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hrtiu · 3 years

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Foxiyo Week day 2! Better late than never! The prompt is Trust: safety, faith, protection. Sometimes, even the great Commander Fox needs protecting. AO3 link.

Nobody’s perfect. Even CC-1010, Commander Fox, highest ranking clone in the GAR, made mistakes sometimes. When pressed, there were exactly three mistakes over the course of his career that Fox could remember with perfect clarity.

---

“I specifically requested an escort for my trip to Bothawui, and you’re telling me no one’s available?” Senator Paulness asked, his watery eyes flashing in frustration.

Sithspit, Fox thought, looking down at his datapad. “Weren’t you sharing the transport with Senator Chuchi?”

Commander Fox stood on the landing platform between Senators Chuchi and Paulness and their respective entourages. Behind him a squad of clones stood at attention—enough clones for one senatorial escort but definitely not two.

“Senator Chuchi? When did I ever say anything about Senator Chuchi?” Senator Paulness said, hands on hips.

“Aren’t you both going to Bothawui?”

“Yes, but to entirely different cities on entirely different diplomatic missions! Do you think this one escort can be with both of us at the same time on two different sides of the planet, Commander?”

Fox looked back down at the datapad, his mind struggling to call back to his conversation with Senator Paulness from two months ago amidst the thousands of other meetings, councils, briefings, and requests floating around in his memory. Senators Paulness and Chuchi had approached him on the same day, requesting to go to the same system, but now that he thought about it, they hadn’t said they’d be going together.

“Eh, no, sir,” Fox said, already bracing for whatever ire Senator Paulness was about to unleash on him. “My mis-”

“I’m so sorry, Zinn,” Senator Chuchi said, approaching her colleague and taking him by the arm. “I told Commander Fox I’d be going with you when I made the request. When I first heard about your trip I thought we might travel together, then later I changed my mind and forgot to tell Commander Fox.”

Fox stared at Senator Chuchi like she’d grown a second head, though she had no way of telling on the other side of the helmet. She was lying. She was lying to spare his shiny ass.

Senator Paulness looked down at the blue arm hooked around his elbow, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead in surprise. “Oh, eh, well… It’s no problem, Senator Chuchi. An honest mistake.”

“I can get another escort together in a few hours,” Fox said, doing a few quick calculations on patrol schedules and outstanding favors on the inside of his visor. “Would that work for either of you?”

“Since it was my mistake, I’d be happy to take the later escort. Thank you for being so accommodating,” Senator Chuchi said, her composed features gracing him with an elegant smile. Fox resisted the urge to cough.

“Certainly.”

Fox got Senator Paulness sorted with his escort, then saw the transport off the landing platform and called in the squad who’d be taking Senator Chuchi. When all the logistics were finally done, he personally walked Senator Chuchi to the transport. He held a hand out to her to help her up the gangplank and she took it.

“Thank you,” he said, just loud enough for the mic in his helmet to pick up and vocalize the message.

Senator Chuchi smiled down at him. “It was my pleasure, Commander.”

---

Fox’s second mistake nearly leveled the city. Fox stood on a platform overlooking the carnage the Zillo Beast had wrought, the sheer amount of work to do the only thing keeping him from boiling alive in a wash of guilt and anger. Over a hundred people, citizens and clones alike, killed by a beast that he and his men should have contained.

Chancellor Palpatine finished talking with the Jedi who’d helped subdue the beast, then joined Fox on the platform, the kindly face he always wore hardening just a fraction.

“Well, Commander. How did this happen? You told me this creature was secure.”

Fox tensed, his fingers flexing nervously on his blaster. Chancellor Palpatine represented the Republic in a literal sense, and failing him felt like failing Fox’s duty to the Republic. “We made it as secure as we could, sir. The beast was an unknown quantity.”

“There should have been contingencies. Backup plans! Ray shields on ray shields! Look at all these casualties,” Chancellor Palpatine said, his eyes misting over as they surveyed the smoldering city.

Fox wanted to sink right into the duracrete below them and perish. “I… Sir, I… Did what I could-”

“Chancellor Palpatine, are you alright?” a soft, lilting voice said. “I heard you were trapped on an airship when the creature attacked.

Senator Riyo Chuchi joined them on the platform, her headpiece and elaborate hair dishevelled but otherwise unharmed. Chancellor Palpatine turned to her, his eyes widening and a weary smile rising to his lips.

“I am unharmed, thanks to the quick thinking of Anakin Skywalker,” he said.

“I’m so glad to hear it, Chancellor. And Commander,” she said, turning to Fox, “Please do not blame yourself for this incident. I saw that creature from the Senate building. There was no way to contain it, and it should never have been brought here in the first place.”

Chancellor Palpatine’s eyebrows rose and he leaned backwards, surprised by the Senator’s gentle, implied rebuke. And Fox… Well, Fox didn’t know how to feel. It was strange, having someone come to his defense, and this was the second time now. The deep well of guilt in his gut started to evaporate, if only a little, and his sense of personal responsibility for the carnage before him ebbed to a more manageable degree.

“Well, ahem. Thank you, Senator Chuchi, for your concern,” Chancellor Palpatine said.

“Thank you, Senator Chuchi,” Fox said.

“No,” she said, reaching her hand out towards him. “Thank you for protecting our capital every day.”

He shook her hand, and even through his gloves he could swear he felt warmth.

---

The third mistake Fox made came very close to ending his life, but in other ways saved it.

He’d let the Jedi librarian—Jacosta Nu—go. She’d used her mind tricks on him and escaped. Fox wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do to apprehend someone who could warp his very thoughts, but excuses wouldn’t work on the Emperor, or on his new disciple, Darth Vader.

“The temple is sealed, Lord Vader,” Fox told the imposing man as he strode up the temple steps. “What are your orders?”

“Unless authorized by either the Emperor or me—no one enters, no one leaves.”

“Yes, sir.”

Vader swept past Fox, his long black cloak trailing behind him, and walked through the temple doors. Fox stayed behind, monitoring the comms and making sure the perimeter stayed clear. Then the shooting started.

“Sir, we’ve got another Jedi!” a trooper shouted frantically over the comm.

“Don’t let them escape! Apprehend them by any means necessary!” Fox said.

More shooting continued, then several screams. Fox lost one, two, three men.

“Commander Fox?” a voice asked, a voice entirely at odds with the current situation. Fox turned around and his heart rate spiked at the sight of Riyo Chuchi walking up the temple steps, ignoring the troopers waving her away.

“Ma’am, this area is not safe-”

“What’s going on, Fox? They’re saying that the Jedi have betrayed us, but that can’t be true! I can’t get a straight answer out of anyone-”

“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave, right now,” Fox said, his teeth grinding in tension. She was not supposed to be here. Fox wasn’t allowed to have opinions about his orders, but one thing he did know was that he didn’t want Riyo Chuchi’s hands to be sullied by the kind of work he had to do now.

He signalled to Captain Dennet, and the trooper gently but firmly took Senator Chuchi by the arm and started to haul her away.

Fox checked back in on his comms, and everything was chaos.

“He got Sinkeye!”

“Ahhh!”

“Wait, wait! That’s not a Jedi-!”

Then Darth Vader himself descended from a broken window high up on the temple wall, his bulky body moving with a balletic grace. As the dark figure slowly advanced on him, it all came together in Fox’s head. The chaos from the comms, Vader’s orders, the cold anger in his voice—this was an even bigger mistake than letting the librarian go.

“Your men were shooting at me, Commander,” he said, coming to a stop right in front of Fox.

This will be the last mistake I ever make, Fox thought, his hands starting to shake in one final contradiction to the training he’d received on Kamino. Now, Fox knew with absolute certainty that clones could fear.

“I’m sorry, sir! They thought you were the Jedi-”

“Did you not provide your troops with my description?”

“I- I didn’t expect anything like this to happen, sir. I just didn’t think-”

Darth Vader raised his hand and Fox squeezed his eyes shut, somehow knowing despite having never dealt with him before that Vader’s hand was all it would take to kill him.

“Stop!”

Fox opened his eyes and all he could see was the back of Senator Chuchi’s cloak, the crimson hiding him from the murderous man before him.

“Senator, this matter does not concern you. Leave,” Vader said, his voice deathly still.

“I know that things are different now with the Emperor, and you may be his acolyte, but the Senate still exists. Are you going to murder me, too, to get to Fox? Because that’s what it will take,” Senator Chuchi said, utterly unbowed.

Beyond Senator Chuchi, Vader stood stock still, his mechanized breath slowly puffing in and out. He examined Senator Chuchi like he might a bug beneath his boot, and Fox felt sure that his mistake would now cost two lives instead of one.

“I will be telling the Emperor about this,” Vader said, then he whisked away.

Fox inhaled, the oxygen flooding his deprived brain. He didn’t even realize the power had left his limbs until Senator Chuchi caught him, her tiny frame propping him up.

“Commander Fox, you need to get out of here.”

“...But… We need to keep the perimeter secure…”

Senator Chuchi shoved him back so he was centered on his feet again and looked him sternly in the eye. Fox wondered somewhere in the back of his mind how she managed to catch his gaze through the helmet.

“If you ever see that man again, he’ll kill you. You need to leave.”

“I can’t leave,” Fox protested. “I’m Commander of the Coruscant Guard.”

“We both need to leave. I don’t know if this ‘Lord Vader’ will have much mercy to spare for me, either. If I can see where the wind is blowing, the Senate may very soon become powerless in the face of this new regime.”

“I can’t-”

“Sir,” Captain Dennet interrupted. “Sir, you should go with the Senator. She’s right—Lord Vader will kill you. Either way you’re no longer with the Guard, but at least if you leave you escape with your life.”

Fox looked around, and the other clone troopers nodded solemnly. His chest tightened at their support and concern for him, at the permission they were giving him.

Senator Chuchi held out her hand to him. “Come with me, I was already preparing a transport in case of emergencies.”

Fox looked down at the hand, the pale blue laced with indigo where her skin creased. She was so small and seemingly delicate, and yet she’d caught him each time he fell.

He took her hand.

#foxi #foxiyoweek2020 #commander fox #riyo chuchi #tcw #fanfic #fox deserved better #fixit

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silver-wield · 4 years

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Omg. Your body language analysis is so on point it makes me go uwu. If you're still doing it, will you make one for the scene where Cloud catches Tifa while Barret shoots his damnest at the heli? I have my own analysis but very curious what's your take on it.

Heya, I'm guessing you don't mean the scene with the hand catch, but the one after it where they reach Barret's position on the stairs. Although I have many thoughts about Rude too and why he first of all directed Reno's attention to Tifa, but then noped them away when Reno was about to shoot her. He had an interesting microexpression – teeny facial tic – that hinted something different to the OG “he's crushing on her” angle.

A lot of these “action touches” get discounted by you-know-who because in those situations it's impossible not to touch? I don't get the reasoning and I'm not gonna try and figure out just what counts and what doesn't. It's non-optional. Isn't that the only argument that matters?

Ok, spoiler warning for ppl who haven't played (I tag FF7R spoilers as final fantasy 7 remake spoilers) and it's gonna be a long one so prepare to scroll.

Also, this is one person's interpretation of the scene, so if you disagree that's cool and we'll agree to disagree.

You're also gonna have to excuse the janky quality on some of the screens, I'm grabbing them from Youtube and it's frustrating af trying to get the exact moment I want.

Other analyses if anyone's interested.

Shinra HQ vision scene (Cloti/plot analysis)

Chapter 3 (Cloti reblog)

Tifa character analysis

Aerith Resolution (plot analysis/theory)

Train graveyard (not really an analysis, but I got some sweet screenshots of Cloti)

Clotiscrew tunnel analysis

Cloti reunion analysis

The Promise Analysis

Andrea's approval (Cloti ask response)

Now, strap in and enjoy the ride.

Quick recap. Cloud and Tifa are reunited after that hand catch scene (smug? Me? Nau) and they're heading up to find Barret after seeing Jessie “die”. The mood is not good. This is not romantic, okay? This is war.

Ok, so already we have touchy touching here. You can argue it's high tension/stress moment and Cloud is making sure Tifa's safe, but he doesn't do that with Barret, is all I'm saying.

Cloud's got hold of her entire arm, not just her wrist or hand, he's got hold of her as securely as possible giving they're in motion. He doesn't want to lose her. She's got her arm on him, braced and using his body as a shield, which he is clearly fine with because he positions her partly behind him while he turns to check the threat from the stairs – possible further collapse of the platform they're now on. He's protecting her. Obvs. I shouldn't have to spell this out. It's not romantic, but it's telling of their trust and reliance on each other as partners. This is a clear pair.

Ok, so moving on from Cloti – cause action scene and this isn't a romance game – we get Tifa hearing Barret behind her. She turns and there's her concern for her friend. Obviously, she cares. It's her entire motivation for leaving the safety at the bottom and hauling her ass up those stairs.

Her face here hits me hard in the feels. She's so grim and worried and doesn't want to lose anyone else. She's caught up to Cloud, but then she lost Jessie – right in front of her and she couldn't do a thing about it. Now, she sees Barret facing down a helicopter.

Take that in. It's a dude – ok he's got a machine gun on his arm – fighting military spec weaponry on a fucking helicopter. Of course she's frightened and worried that she's about to see him get shot. Someone else she couldn't save.

Remember, FF7 has themes of loss and failure. The heroes don't always win or if they do there's a cost. How much of that threads into Remake is still to be seen, but since this scene is following canon we can assume it stands for now.

Tifa's character is often motivated by the desire to not lose people. She even says as much to the Shinra middle manager that she doesn't want anyone else to die. She stops Cloud killing the security agents and Johnny. This is a girl who fights because she wants people to live, not die.

Ok, so now we've got her running to reach Barret, leaving the safety of her bolt hole beside Cloud, who immediately turns and is all wtf when he sees her playing chicken with a chopper. Tbf, Barret doesn't sound that pleased about it, either. It's a crazy impulsive move likely driven by the desire to not lose her friend. If they're together they can stop whatever's coming. Tifa is very teamwork oriented if you recall all her actions from chapter 3 and how demoralised she was when she had to agree to disagree with Avalanche.

Cloud for his part doesn't take too long to dive to the rescue again. I think by now he's pretty much fulfilled that childhood promise and this is way more than just helping out a colleague or friend. He's not hesitating for a second to put himself in front of her with nothing but a sword for a shield.

Sorry, I just stopped the vid on this moment and it looks so damn cool I couldn't resist adding it. All it does is reinforce the above statement that Cloud has zero reservations of putting himself between Tifa and certain death. He's her hero without even stopping to think about it. The framing is stunning. Barret in the background, Cloud in the middle distance and Tifa in the foreground. Cloud has lined himself up with Tifa so that she's as protected by his position as he could possibly get. That takes skill. Tifa's half crouched to make herself a smaller target, but Cloud's body language is open, defiant. He's basically saying “come at me”.

Ah and now I'm sure some people will be all “but Cloud left her in the middle of the platform”. Well, yes, it's called diversion. He's the bigger target, the better target. And by making the chopper follow his progress, he's taken its sights away from Tifa's position. It now has less chance of hitting her when it next fires. Remember, Cloud knows tactics. He's not a dumdum. You can see that on his face as he's deciding his next move. The chopper won't wait for him to stop and explain what he needs to do, it's gonna fire. He's gotta move quickly. He also needs to trust that Tifa can get herself out of trouble. So many people's complaints about how she's not a damsel and should take care of herself. Well, this is Cloud trusting her not to be a damsel. He helped her out, and now he's gotta rely on her helping herself too. If he took her by the hand at this moment and dragged her along with him, she probably would've died. Tifa got herself to his position alone, she's clearly capable. He knows how much ass she can kick.

After that we've got the typical checking for danger and guy banter. I'm loving the development of Cloud and Barret's relationship. They went from outright hating each other to friends over the course of this game. It's beautiful and develops even further in their resolution – I love their one, it's so sweet and sad and such a guy bonding moment. Male friendship is important too, especially to Cloud who doesn't have many friends.

Now, despite the banter, Cloud's head turns at this point, back to Tifa. He's made sure the immediate area is safe, checked in with Barret and now it's back to his primary focus.

I love that Barret calls himself the leading man. It reminds me of Balthier in FF12.

And you'll see that Barret is still in the middle of that line while Cloud is stretching his hand out for Tifa. Could be a “I gotta grab my teammate” move, but I mean, really? Are we that delusional? He didn't have to do any of this. He could've relied on Tifa to get herself over there and not put out a hand for her. Barret didn't grab him. You could say that Barret doesn't like Cloud enough for that, but it's a high action moment. They're comrades and being shot at. Any helping hand is appreciated. Maybe Barret thought Cloud was capable enough not to need help. But then wouldn't the same apply to Tifa? Why does she need helping just cause she's a woman? She can kick ass.

And what about Barret? His attention isn't on Tifa at all. His focus is the helicopter, so he's either relying on Tifa to be ok without that level of help or he's expecting Cloud to support her.

Yes, she is literally throwing herself into his arms. That's how much she trusts him to catch her. Again, Cloud is going for a full arm grab – a hand or wrist isn't secure enough in this situation and he wants to keep her safe.

Tifa. Well, she looks scared. Shocker. She just got shot at by a helicopter. Ofc she's scared and leaning on Cloud. She's taking strength and reassurance from him. I mean, she could've just grabbed his arm and pulled herself to safety. There's no need for this depth of touch.

You'll notice this all happens within miliseconds while Barret says that leading man line. This is very quick action, very decisive. No hesitation on anybody's part.

I mean, this is full upper body contact between them. I don't know what else to say about it. There's no need to get this close. He could've pulled her over and then let go. He didn't. They both prolonged contact. This is relief they're ok for the moment. They’re united in how they feel.

Oh look, eye contact. I've pointed out before that Cloud doesn't do eye contact with people very well, but he does with Tifa, no matter the situation. Looking at this I'm like damn get a room. It's an intense look between them and even though there's shit hitting the fan around them you can see they have attention for each other, too. He's pulled her to safety and now he's meeting her gaze to gauge if she's ok. She nods. He nods. Back to the action. They don't have time for a drawn out romantic bit. They've got more serious things to think about, but even during the most high tension action scenes they have this energy about them that speaks to their close bond and affection. He's comfortable with her touch in every situation – if I'm wrong about this then someone point it out to me so I can see plz. He's still got his hand on her after they separate from their action hug and then when he drops his hand he braces it against the pipe beside her. Still close to her, though not actually touching.

After Barret asks if they're ready, Cloud looks around then looks at Tifa again. Did he need to do that? Idk, but he didn't look at Barret before they hauled ass.

Conclusion:

Kinda obvious. Even in high tension situations Cloud has part of his attention on Tifa. He's hyper aware of where she is and whether she needs him at any given time. It's sweet af how much he focuses on being her hero without even really knowing why. This instinctive need to protect her comes from the real!Cloud part of him. The one that made the promise to her. The one that has a crush on her.

Some people can say these kind of moments don't count because Cloud has no choice(?) but to touch her, but actually, he has no reason to touch her the amount he does. There's ways to execute these moments without this much unnecessary touching. He does it this way because of an instinctive need and desire to touch her this much. It's what he wants to do.

#final fantasy 7 remake spoilers #final fantasy 7 remake analysis #cloti #action romance scenes #battle couple #there's really no need for them to be this touchy #unless they wanna be #they act like a couple already

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captainsassmanes · 4 years

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It’s the Little Things

“Here, drink this.”

Michael stared at the cup, squinting in his sad attempt to push through his hangover and see the world through clearer eyes.

“What’s that?”

Kyle raised his eyebrows, annoyance pinching the features of his face. “Poison.”

Michael offered a fake smile and took the cup, grimacing initially at its heat, then enjoying the warmth as it worked its way down his throat and into his gut.

He sat up, stretching his back and blinking the tired from his eyes when he paused, cup halfway to his lips again.

“How’d you know how I like my coffee?”

Kyle tapped the side of his head, conspiratorial smirk in place. When Michael’s face showed exactly how funny he thought Kyle was, he sighed and turned back to his work.

“How do you think, genius?”

******

Michael had gotten absolutely obliterated.

His head was pounding, the sound of his own breathing causing him to groan in agony. Rolling onto his back, he stared at the ceiling of his air stream, trying to piece together what may have happened the night before.

He was definitely at the Pony. He’d definitely bumped into Long again. Then something else...it was all fuzzy. It must have been bad if Maria hauled his ass out instead of letting him stay the night.

After a bottle of acetone and a few more fruitless tries at the game of memory, Michael practically fell out of his too small bed. He opened the door and squinted at the sun piercing his eyes, sending a dagger of pain through his skull.

Surprisingly, his truck sat outside and he felt a pit of dread thinking he may have driven home while he was black out drunk. But as he moved closer, he saw his jacket folded neatly on the hood, a yellow piece of paper sticking out of the pocket.

Feel better.

*****

The next time Michael woke up from a binge, it was on a hard bench in an all too familiar cell.

“Ah, he lives.”

Deputy Valenti swaggered to the cell door with a sad smile on her face. “You alright, cowboy?”

Michael threw his arm over his eyes, the sun coming in through the small window at the perfect angle to blind him.

“Been better. Been worse.”

He heard her clear her throat, presumably to get his attention. Peeking out from the safety of his own body, he met her gaze, a mix of frustration and pity.

“Guerin, I dunno what’s going on but you’ve gotta get it together.” He scoffed but she wouldn’t let up. “I’m serious. Michael, the men you fought with last night? About five of them, half of them twice your size. You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

His heart pounded as he felt her affection for him. The sudden longing for his own mother, for someone to love him unconditionally and hold him close while he collapsed, was overwhelming. He didn’t trust his own voice so he just nodded, resting his head back on the wood.

After a few minutes of silence, Michael asked, “so how long am I in the tank this time, Valenti?”

She’d moved quietly to her desk at this point, diving into the endless pile of paperwork. “Whenever you’re sober enough to safely get yourself home.”

Groaning, Michael pushed himself up to sit, resting his back against the cool wall. “I don’t owe you anything?”

She shook her head, eyes dancing across her work. “Already taken care of.”

“Who?”

She looked up, pulling her glasses off her face. “An anonymous donor. Are you feeling better yet? I’m tired of you, Guerin.”

******

Somehow he completely zoned out.

He’d been working through some of Liz’s notes, trying to find what they were missing. But he’d been off all day, getting lost in thoughts of his family, daydreams of his home planet, missing Maria, throwing some shit around when he thought of Max. And then there was always...

A knock at the door startled him from his reverie. He lifted the blinds to see who would have the balls to visit without warning but found a kid standing in the sand with a big bag and a hesitant look on his face.

Michael pushed the door open with a gruff, “what?”

The poor kid looked like he might tip over. He cleared his throat and squeaked out, “delivery for Michael Guerin.”

Michael looked around the yard, trying to see if someone was messing with him. “I didn’t order anything, kid.”

“Uh, well, it’s all paid for, sir. You just have to sign here.”

Michael’s eyebrows moved closer together in confusion. “What do you mean already paid for?”

“I mean someone already paid for the meal and told me where to deliver it?”

“Who?”

The kid shrugged and again held out the delivery receipt for Michael to sign but he shook his head and mumbled, “nah, I don’t want it. You have it. Since it’s already paid for.”

“Um, are you sure?” The kid lifted the corner of the bag to look in. “It’s a 22 ounce steak with pasta and potatoes. From that fancy place.”

Michael’s hand reached out to steady himself against the door frame. That was the place he’d saved up for weeks to take Maria on a proper date. It’d been an amazing night. One he took twisted pride in making sure everyone knew about.

“Yeah, I’ll take it then.” He signed the paper and took his food. “Thanks.”

The kid nodded and practically ran back to his car.

Michael placed the food on the small kitchen counter and sat down, staring at the plastic containers while the smell of garlic and basil filled the tight space.

With shaking hands, he found his phone and sent a quick text.

Thanks for the food, babe

He waited impatiently for the response to come, leg bouncing with anticipation.

What food?

He closed his eyes and threw his head back.

******

“You need to leave me alone.”

Alex was sitting in the sun, tan biceps on display, glasses resting on his nose to block out the rays, reading a book. Michael had barely gotten out of his truck before he’d begun his tirade.

“You’re fucking things up for me, Manes. I don’t want anything from you.”

Alex pushed his glasses into his hair and squinted, using his free hand to shield his eyes.

“Okay.”

Michael stood, hands on his hips, chest heaving, itching for a fight. “Okay?”

Alex nodded. He put his sunglasses back in place and opened his book back up. “Okay.”

They were silent as Michael stared in disbelief and Alex did his best to pretend not to notice Michael’s continued presence.

Eventually it became too much.

“What’s your deal, Manes? Trying to get into my head? Mess up my relationship? What?”

Alex sighed before replacing his bookmark and reaching for his crutch. He stood a bit awkwardly and used the spine of the novel to push his glasses back up so Michael was forced to clearly see his eyes.

“What exactly have I done, Guerin? What exactly is it that’s upsetting you so much?”

Michael opened his mouth but Alex beat him to the punch. “I must have gotten confused again. My fault. Do I owe you more apologies? I’m sorry.”

He turned and began walking toward the house before pausing at the doorway. Alex turned and Michael stood, chin lifted in defense although he couldn’t think of one thing to say.

“I assumed a friend would make sure you didn’t drive drunk. Would get you out of jail. Would make sure you ate. What the hell kind of friends do you have that you think that’s me trying to mess up your life?”

Michael’s face dropped, the realization that maybe Alex hadn’t done anything wrong; that Michael had twisted it all until it was a totally unrecognizable version of the truth.

“You already told me to stay away from you, Michael, so I did. You made it clea you don’t love me, don’t want me, and I have done everything I can to try accepting that. You said you wanted to be with Maria, so I smiled and told you I understood. You needed help getting Max back, getting answers to where you come from, you’re people, I’m doing my best. What else do you want? No contact at all? Me completely out of your life? If I moved to New York tomorrow would that be far enough away from you or would I still be pissing you off somehow? Is my continued existence that much of a fucking burden for you, Michael?”

Alex’s voice had gotten loud, his words bouncing off of the courtyard walls. Michael had felt himself shrink, pull back into himself with shame and embarrassment. He survived each day by thinking the universe was out to get him; he was dealt a shit card and he had to handle it by being shit back.

Until Alex’s words smacked him in the face and he saw the pain he’d been causing first hand, it had been an easy lie to believe.

Silently, Alex walked into his house, door slamming loudly behind him. Michael’s heart was racing as his stomach turned. He couldn’t move a muscle, still couldn’t think of one word to say. He was feeling too much, unable to filter through it all to force himself to be coherent.

The sound of a door closing again jolted him back to the moment. Alex came toward him, face full of thunder while his gorgeous brown eyes looked through him, hollow nothingness.

“Here.” Alex took a backpack from his shoulder and handed it over. It was surprisingly heavy. Michael opened the flap and gasped at the shimmering purple of his ship.

He felt his eyes begin to water, not knowing why. He looked to Alex for answers, to help him understand what was happening, to him. To them.

Alex tilted his head toward the bag. “Jim Valenti had it. I found it and wanted to give it to you. But then you talked about getting it all to work and leaving the planet and I thought I’d literally fucking die if you did that so I kept it.” He let out a humorless laugh and stared at the sky. Michael realized he was trying not to cry.

“Didn’t make much difference in the end, though, did it?”

Michael let his tears fall, too overwhelmed to maintain any control.

“I’m sorry I kept it. It was yours. I had no right.”

Michael shook his head. “Why now?”

Alex scanned Michael’s face, hurt bleeding into those chocolate eyes. When he spoke, it was empty and full of defeat.

“So you can finally be done with me, Michael.”

Michael let out a small sob and clutched the bag so tight it was cutting off circulation to his fingers. Alex adjusted his crutch, getting ready to move once again.

They looked at one another, falling into memories of another time, thoughts of all the what-ifs. Michael kept searching for something to say, moving through his own brain like a Rolodex, digging for the right thing, to make sure Alex knew that this was never what he wanted. That while his mouth said stay away, his heart screamed don’t leave me.

He watched as Alex’s eyes filled with tears, an expression Michael had managed to put on his face far too many times.

Alex whispered a broken, “bye, Michael,” before going back inside, shutting the door behind him and locking it with a click.

Michael had no idea how long he stood outside of Alex’s house; long enough for the sun to get lower and his shadow to get longer. He forced his feet to move and shuffled to his truck, tossing the backpack on the passenger seat.

As he drove back home, he began devising a plan.

Step 1: Cut down on the fucking drinking.

Step 2: Hug Isobel and apologize.

Step 3: Talk to Maria and apologize.

Step 4: Find out how Alex likes his coffee.

#Roswell New Mexico #Malex #Malex fic #angst #barely edited #my fic

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bestworstcase · 3 years

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more than once you've said "the tts fandom can't write x character, or can't write y character," but have you considered that maybe they can write them fine, you've just built up your desired interpretations of these characters? you give off this condescending attitude, like ONLY YOU can write tts characters accurately, ONLY YOU understand them, & any interpretations that don't in some way align with what you think are WRONG. this has become more apparent as you've worked through bitter snow

let’s discuss king frederic, and how he is often characterized in fanworks vs how he is characterized in the show.

now... i think we can all agree that frederic is at best a mediocre father and a not especially good king, that in his worst moments he steps over the line into emotional abuse vis a vis his treatment of rapunzel, and that the avoidant head-in-the-sand approach he takes to the black rock problem in s1 causes widespread pain, unnecessary panic, and does not improve the situation whatsoever.

he is widely disliked in the fandom for very good reason

however! it is difficult, though hardly impossible, to find fic where frederic acts or speaks... like frederic, for one very simple reason: the fandom, by and large, as a group, writes frederic as an angry, abusive man who blows up when he is confronted with the many, many things he does wrong. often this takes the form of a character, or characters, getting up in front of him and rattling off his list of crimes, real or perceived, followed by him basically throwing a tantrum.

canon frederic, to put it bluntly, does not do that.

exhibit a: caine’s confrontation of frederic in before ever after.

caine sets up exactly the scenario that in the average tts fanfic would end with frederic yelling / blustering / furiously denying the accusations, plus she does it while rounding up all his guests and putting them in cage to haul them off and, presumably, kill them somewhere. like. the stakes are life or death and this is an extremely stressful situation for everyone involved.

and this is how that conversation goes down:

FRED: Release my guests immediately!

CAINE: What’s the matter, Fred? Am I ruining your perfect day?

RAPUNZEL: ...The Duchess?

CAINE: Oh, honey. I am no Duchess.

RAPUNZEL: I don’t understand.

CAINE: Of course you wouldn’t, Rapunzel, but try to follow along. This is all your fault.

RAPUNZEL: What?!

CAINE: You see, after your untimely... disappearance, your father locked up every criminal in the kingdom... including a simple petty thief. My father. I saw him thrown into a cage and hauled off like some animal, never to be seen again. So... I thought I’d come back, and return the favor.

[the wagon rolls in]

CAINE: Load ‘em up, boys! Your turn, Your Majesty.

[Frederic moves to shield Rapunzel; Caine snickers.]

CAINE: Oh, come on, you didn’t think we’d leave our prized pig in the pen, did you?

RAPUNZEL: [as Caine’s gang drags Frederic toward the wagon] Dad—

FREDERIC: Rapunzel, stay back.

RAPUNZEL: But—

FREDERIC: No. There’s nothing you can do. As your father and your king, I command you to stay put.

there are two key points that i want to make here, because they diverge significantly from the way frederic is characterized in analogous scenarios in fanfics, like, 90% of the time.

1) fred doesn’t get angry. he doesn’t bluster or yell. he orders caine to release his guests, and when she refuses, he gets quiet. he does not interrupt caine’s rant, he does not even try to deny her accusations, and he doesn’t stomp around escalating the situation even while caine is prancing around waving a sword in his daughter’s face or literally poking him in the chest.

he stays calm.

2) fred’s primary, overriding concern is for rapunzel’s safety, and the safety of his guests. not his own. he does not struggle when caine’s men lead him away. he protests on behalf of his guests, but not himself, and he attempts to physically shield rapunzel from harm before he is dragged away. he doesn’t waste his breath trying to argue with caine, but he does tell rapunzel firmly not to put herself in danger trying to rescue him.

now... there are plenty of ways to interpret why frederic behaves this way, and my personal take is certainly not the only possible one. but the behavior itself, the staying calm in the face of a crisis, while someone is in his face threatening him, his family, and his guests and making pretty charged accusation, is a) objectively playing out on the screen and b) directly at odds with the way frederic most often acts in fanfics.

exhibit b: mood-swapped frederic blows up just like fanon frederic constantly does

and this is the only time we ever see frederic lose his temper like this in the entire series. again, this is not a matter of interpretation: this is just plainly what happens on the screen. when he is in his right mind, frederic is not a “scream accusations, whip out a sword, and impulsively declare war or attack someone because he’s mad” sort of person, and to say that he is really like that, deep down, is just as silly as trying to argue that cass really is a peppy, soft-hearted, affectionate pushover, or that eugene really is too riddled-with self-doubt and anxiety to make any decisions, or that rapunzel really is a grouchy, moody, misanthropic person. the mood potion makes everyone act like fundamentally different versions of themselves; their behavior is, literally, out of character for their normal, not high-off-their-asses-on-a-magical-potion selves.

exhibit c: the angry mob in secrets of the sundrop

like with caine, this confrontation kicks off with a premise that should be pretty familiar to anyone who reads any fic featuring frederic at all, ie everybody is pissed at frederic and there is literally an enraged mob screaming for justice in the throne room. and that goes like this:

[everybody shouting in angry panic]

FREDERIC: People... [raising his voice to be heard] Citizens, please! Listen to me!

[Max rears and whinnies to get everyone’s attention, and the shouting dwindles away.]

FREDERIC: I will not lie to you any longer. Corona is in grave danger. The queen has been taken; over half our royal guard lie wounded; and these black rocks draw ever closer.

[the shouting begins to pick up again]

EUGENE: Uh, sir, hi, yeah—if there’s a ‘but’ in this speech, you probably want to cut to it right now.

FREDERIC: But I look at you, and I don’t just see subjects. I see friends, family; strong, brave individuals who have stood by each other, side-by-side, and have never, ever backed down from a fight! Today, we face a danger like none before. As your king, your friend, and as your brother, I ask you to fight one more time. For Corona!

again, key points:

1) frederic does not deny, bluster, shout down, or otherwise attempt to refute the basic point that he bungled the black rock situation. he did bungle it, and he knows that [this scene is preceded by him spelling out the full extent of his failures to rapunzel and openly admitting guilt]. through his behavior, he demonstrates that he accepts culpability for the situation and implicitly accepts the legitimacy of the crowd’s anger.

2) he raises his voice only so he can be heard above the shouting, and as soon as folks quiet down, he drops to a reasonable volume again. his mood is grim, but he isn’t angry. he projects calm.

3) eugene is nervous about frederic losing control of the crowd and accidentally causing a riot or something; frederic is not.

4) instead of denying the crowd’s anger, frederic tries to reframe the problem for them: yes, things are bad, but they are strong and brave and we can all work together to put things right. he doesn’t shout them down; he seeks to inspire them.

and 5) when frederic says “we face a danger,” he means that. the very next thing he does after giving this speech is go straight to the frontlines to fight in the same battle he’s asking everyone else to join in. he's not asking them to do anything he isn’t willing to do himself.

which... i would argue even more than the caine confrontation in BEA, is diametrically opposed to the way the typical fanon frederic would respond to an angry mob situation, because the typical fanon frederic is a very angry, aggressive man, and that... simply isn’t who frederic is. he’s calm, he’s knows how to work a crowd, he knows how to use his authority to achieve his goals without browbeating or threatening.

even when he does get angry—such as his instinctive reaction to arianna’s kidnapping, when he jumps first to “we will invade old corona”—he doesn’t yell or stomp around or throw tantrum. he gets stiff and rather cold and makes an impulsive judgment call... but then he takes some time to brood by himself, calms down, talks things out with rapunzel, admits his failures, and doesn’t follow through with the impulsive order he made in the heat of the moment.

like... flat out, he is not an angry man.

and it’s frustrating, when i go to read fanfic and frederic is overwhelmingly characterized as this hapless angry shouty abusive person, because it is breathtakingly far removed from how he acts in canon, and i like frederic as a character. i find him very interesting, and it’s not fun to read fics where everything that makes him interesting is taken away and replaced with this sort of one-note Shouty Angry King/Bad Dad Whom Everyone Hates. and that applies, unfortunately, to a very large number of the types of fics i like to read (namely, long canon exploratory or canon divergent fics, etc)

anyway,

i am perfectly happy to read interpretations of the tts characters that do not mesh well, or are even wholly incompatible with, my own.

but i do expect, as a minimum, characters to behave more or less the way they behave in canon unless there is a clear reason for them to be different. i expect varian to be nerdy and chaotic and a bit of a disaster, for example. i expect adira to be aloof, blunt, and perhaps a touch arrogant. i expect cassandra to be ambitious and frustrated and prone to self-sabotage and envy. i expect lance to be laid back and eugene to be a bit vain. i expect the captain to be gruff and very tight-laced. and i expect frederic to act like a politician who is in control of his feelings but sort of cowardly at heart, because that’s how frederic acts in the show.

i hold myself to these standards too. a ton of my editing process is “hm does this character really talk like this? is this how they would react to this situation?” and then going through and rewatching scenes or whole episodes and trying to find roughly analogous emotional beats or situations to sort of gauge whether i’m hitting the mark or not; it’s very difficult and i work hard on it and do not always succeed... and this does make me a bit picky about characterization in fics i’m reading, yeah, because it’s... always at the forefront of my mind. and then yes i post about it here, because this is the hyperfixation landfill where i dump my tts-adjacent thoughts.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

of course, you’re welcome to unfollow me if you do not enjoy reading what i post. it’s important to curate an online experience that you enjoy! if my general demeanor irritates you, you don’t need to inflict yourself with it.

#thank u for your input anon <3 #Anonymous

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thebibliomancer · 4 years

Text

Essential Avengers: Avengers #223: of Robin Hoods and Roustabouts

September, 1982

Apparently a “roustabout” is an unskilled or casual labor.

And lets admit the obvious that if Hawkeye is either of the two things, he’s a robin hood. And its not inaccurate but be nicer to Scott Lang.

Even if he manages to be even more hapless in this issue then in modern takes that leans into him being a fuck-up.

As for the cover? Pretty striking cover. I’ve been waiting for Hawkeye to shoot Ant-Man at someone. Its apparently an Iconic Avengers moment and to think it first happens in a filler.

Because I’m pretty sure this is a filler. Its written by David Michelinie alone instead of Jim Shooter getting a plotter or co-writer credit. It doesn’t really have anything from the dangling plot threads of Hank Pym or the Masters of Evil.

Between this and and the filler with the immortal child who badly wanted to die and all of the plotter or co-writer credits, you just really get a sense that Jim Shooter did not have time to devote to Avengers anymore.

So what kind of filler will this be? Weird? Impactless? Good Actually? Let’s see!

Well, apparently Hawkeye is going to the carnival so at this point, it could go either way.

I like that Hawkeye has a H belt buckle because that’s the kind of thing that he would do and that I can make fun of him for.

I know that it’s been a while since he’s mentioned kewpie dolls but Hawkeye came from the circus. He and his brother ran away to one when they were little and the Swordsman taught Hawkeye archery. The point being, “he’s come home.”

As in, this is specifically the carnival he used to work before he became very briefly a superhero, and then for slightly longer a supervillain, and then for much much longer a superhero for real.

Point is, he’s been away for a while. But he received a flyer in the mail and decided he just had to come.

Because someone wrote HELP! on the back.

Hawkeye figures that the previous owner’s daughter and current owner Marcy Carson sent it as a goof but heck if she’s going to go to that trouble, he’ll be happy to visit.

So he breezes past the workers outside the owner’s trailer and-

Actually they beat the shit out of him for trying to breeze past them. Goes to show.

When Hawkeye threatens to beat them up for this rude treatment, they get ruder and call him a rube. Can you believe! Him, a former employee himself being called a rube! Also they pull a fancy sci-fi gun on him.

So Hawkeye does buzz off. So he can change into his hawking eye duds and buzz right back on.

Roustabouts carrying laser pistols is very suspicious. And I guess Ant-Man isn’t the roustabout of the title. He’s moving up in the world.

MEANWHILE, Perfectly Ordinary electronics technician, ex-con, and Ant-Man Scott Lang is having a night out with his daughter Cassie. And they’re having a bit of a disagreement.

See, Cassie, future superhero, wants to ride the really cool roller coaster the Spin-’n-Heave. Scott Lang, dad with dumb views on gender apparently, insists that a roller coaster just isn’t ladylike enough and she should ride something more refined like the pony ride or ring toss.

Also, Scott is carrying the Ant-Man suit with him, loose in his pocket. And the helmet just drops out of his pocket and the damn fool would have lost it if Cassie hadn’t spotted it and mistaken it for a marble.

Geez, Scott! I stood up for you!

Scott’s attempts to dad by restricting what his daughter can and can’t do based on his own views on what is ladylike get dropped when he spots Hawkeye hauling ass across the carnival and decides that This Cannot Stand!

Scott Lang Ant-Man may not be an Avenger but dangit he can’t leave a fellow hero in the lurch! He must offer unsolicited aid!

So he caves on the Spin-’n-Heave issue because its a way to keep Cassie occupied for the length of exactly this issue.

Scott gives the operator a bunch of money and tells the operator to let Cassie ride until it runs out and then takes off.

Cassie is thrilled.

Meanwhile, Hawkeye has returned to the owner’s trailer but Marcy is gone and so are the two goons that were guarding the door. But he spots them marching Marcy through the crowd.

The goons are complimenting Marcy on being so cooperative but also say that if she’s not cooperative, her star acts are gonna get fed to the lions. And that might happen anyway once everything is said and done because their boss be like that.

Anyway, that’s when the two get hit by a KRAK THUBB arrow. Punch arrow? It looks nerf-y.

Hawkeye grabs Marcy and runs off with her into a tent so she can explain it all.

But first: he has to notice that she is beautiful. He has been gone a while so, y’know. People grow up or whatever.

Hawkeye: “There, that’s better! Now maybe I can get to the bottom of -- hey! You’re beautiful!”

Marcy: “I’ve waited a long time for you to notice that, ol’ buddy.”

Hawkeye: “Yeah, well, it’s hard noticin’ anything when you’re bein’ tripped into a pile of elephant dirt -- which, as I recall, used to be your favorite pastime!”

Marcy: “People change, Clint.”

Young Marcy sounds like a really interesting person. She certainly gave Hawkeye the business.

Anyway, she explains that it was pure luck that she was able to sneak that message out to him. And that the carnival has been taken over by some freak with powers.

Marcy: “Why, if he even suspected I was in touch with you he’d kill me deader than a Monday night in Des Moines!”

Off-screen Villain: “Nicely put, dumplin’! Should make you a dandy little epitaph!”

SCENE CHANGE TO PRESERVE SUSPENSE

Scott Lang has ducked behind some circus carts to change into Ant-Man.

Except he still has the whole shrunken costume piecemeal in his pockets so the process is one of slapstick. Scott goes digging in his pockets for the suit and accidentally drops it all in the straw.

Then he has to go digging around for the incredibly teeny pieces of gear while realizing that this was a stupid plan.

Maybe he should keep the suit in a tin. Like a mint tin or something.

But he finally gets all the pieces together and uses a safety pin to trigger the enlarging gas to full-size the outfit so he can put it on.

Huh! Enlarging gas! Early days in Avengers, they were all about the logistics of the shrinking and growing for Ant-Giant and the Wasp but it hasn’t been talked about in a long while. Wasp just changes size without the how being discussed.

But if it is Pym Particles, then I guess Scott isn’t at the point yet where his body naturally produces them so he has to use the gas canisters on the belt.

Scott does get dressed in his ant duds and uses the helmet to command some ants to find Hawkeye. And this is a carnival with a lot of dropped funnel cake and cotton candy so you know that there’s plenty of ants available.

SCENE CHANGE because we can only preserve suspense so far.

The mysterious off-screen villain hits the lights in the tent that Hawkeye and Marcy were talking in. Which reveals a bunch of gym and training equipment. It’d be nice if carnivals could provide such robust gym benefits to their workers but I feel that this is actually suspicious, finding this here.

Especially the combat flight simulator.

Hawkeye: “This place looks like a training ground for World War III!”

Off-screen villain, about to be onscreen: “And what better setting for the world’s greatest trainer? Namely... the TASKMASTER!”

Heyyy its the Taskmaster!

I forgot that he was a loose thread. He got away after the THREE-PARTER that introduced him. Then again, I guess since he’s the explanation for where villains get their armies of mooks, he didn’t really need to be tied up because that would defeat the purpose.

Anyway, Hawkeye wasn’t on the team for that three-parter but thankfully, the Avengers take thorough records.

Hawkeye: “Yeah, I remember readin’ about you in the Avengers’ files! You’re some sorta goon peddler!”

Taskmaster: “Watch yer mouth, bow-bender! What I am is a teacher!”

And then he recaps his goon, mook, henchman training business for the audience. He even clarifies that his series of secret academies are going great, thanks, but he’s trying to branch out with a mobile recruiting center.

Aka, this circus. And heck, according to Taskmaster, carnies already come off unscrupulous so having a bunch of goons hanging around won’t stand out.

THE PERFECT CRIME.

Actually. I don’t know if this is a crime? It’s not illegal to do combat training or learn how to fly a plane, probably. Then again, when 100% of your alumni wind up arrested for helping steal the Statue of Liberty, a legal goon school would get a lot of unwanted scrutiny. So best keep it secret.

And of course, extorting the owner and workers of a circus is definitely a crime. Pretty sure.

Anyway, the mobile recruiting center scheme is helped by Marcy telling anyone who asks that the new people hanging around are a new act that isn’t ready to open yet.

Hawkeye is sick of Taskmaster’s smarmy smarm and tries to shoot a grabber arrow? at Taskmaster.

Who just blocks it with his shield.

And takes the opportunity to brag about his photographic reflexes, where he only needs to see a sweet move once and he can do it perfectly.

He shows off by doing some Cap moves and then doing a Spider-Man move. Which he seems to do just to do.

And by Spider-Man move I mean hanging upside down from a line. Which, yes, Spider-Man does do that but it doesn’t really seem that necessary or helpful here and you’re totally doing it just to show off but really you look a little ridiculous.

Taskmaster even shows off some Tigra moves by kicking Hawkeye in the face. Its fun to me that he shows off Tigra specifically. Its for some acrobatics like flippy kick but there’s gotta be other acrobatic heroes. Like Spider-Man.

But Tigra was on the Avengers recently and briefly and dammit, he’s gonna show off what he learned!

Anyway, Taskmaster beats up Hawkeye until he gets bored of it and then just takes Marcy hostage to get Hawkeye to surrender.

He just really wanted to show off some of his sweet moves. And as soon as he ran through five different hero movesets (Cap, Spider-Man, Tigra, Daredevil, and Iron Fist) he’s just like ‘k I’m done’.

Meanwhile, back to Ant-Man ant-again.

He’s lurking around a corner trying to be inconspicuous while children are pointing and asking if he’s a clown. Perhaps realizing that he didn’t need to put on the full costume to use the helmet and that he’s just made himself look foolish.

But some of his ants report in that they’ve found Hawkeye so Ant-Man shrinks down to ride an ant into action.

Wait. Yeah. You could have just shrunken down and perched somewhere to wait for ant reports. You’ve made yourself look a fool and you fully had the power to avoid that in so many ways.

Meanwhile back to Hawkeye yet again, Taskmaster knows that killing an Avenger would attract notice so he’s going to make it look like an accident.

So he’s locked Hawkeye in an electrified cage with a lion, a normal situation that can accidentally happen to anyone. So now when Hawkeye gets mauled to death by the lion, nobody will suspect it was anything but an accident.

Taskmaster walks away because its villain tradition that you don’t watch the heroes you lock in the death traps. That’d just be gauche.

The lion sizes up Hawkeye and decides that he’s food and leaps for the kill!

And Ant-Man grows out from under the lion and throws it into the electrified bars, knocking him out.

Pretty good timing Scott! And that poor attempted man-eater lion! That poor five hundred pound lion! WOW SCOTT, do you work out?

I also feel that Republic Serial has aged poorly for more than just lion tossing.

Ant-Man and Hawkeye get each other on the same page. As it happens, Ant-Man actually has more experience with Taskmaster since he was actually in that three-parter. That’ll give them a tiny, tiny, tiny edge.

They’re still stuck in a locked cage and Hawkeye is like ‘gee whiz shrinking hero guy how can we possibly get out?’

Would you be surprised that Ant-Man just shrinks Hawkeye? Scott does muse that he could probably have picked the lock if he had the tools for it but shrinking just saves time.

Hawkeye does not care for it though.

I don’t know what he’s complaining about. Big sleepy cat even bigger now. You could live in the mane at that size.

You could be a tiny man living in a lion’s mane. Imagine.

Anyway.

Over in Taskmaster’s private tent, he’s telling Marcy she done fucked up calling for Hawkeye and she’s going to wish she was getting mauled to death by a lion in an electrified cage like Hawkeye was.

And Hawkeye does the equivalent of clearing his throat and saying ‘hey dingus, not dead’

Taskmaster reaches for a magnesium flare like he used against the Avengers but Ant-Man’s expert knowledge of meeting Taskmaster one time lets him warn Hawkeye who shoots it out of Taskmaster’s hand.

Taskmaster just questions why they didn’t go for a killshot when they had him surprised and then calls a goon squad on the heroes.

Of course, goon squads being called on heroes is just a setup to make heroes look really cool showing their stuff on some expendable targets.

“While the Taskmaster’s troops have been well-trained for normal combat, they fare woefully poor against these super-normal foes!”

And show their stuff they do. Like Hawkeye leaping around firing net and bola arrows!

And Ant-Man... shrinking down really small to punch a guy’s earlobe.

Look. He’s trying.

Also, Marcy is braining people with a juggling pin like some manner of alien clown because she is exceptionally irate at Taskmaster and his goons.

While the three beat up this crowd of goons, Taskmaster runs off to set up his “escape insurance.”

Ant-Man and Hawkeye chase him into the big top where there’s already a crowd watching the show. And waiting for the human cannonball act.

BUT! Taskmaster is apparently a cartoon villain because he’s replaced the human cannonball with a dummy full of explosives and he’s going to shoot it and blow up the grandstand, killing a couple hundred innocent lives.

Taskmaster tells them they can capture him or they can stop his ridiculous scheme.

Taskmaster: “Have fun decidin’, chumps!”

And then presumably he runs off giggling.

Hawkeye wants to go after Taskmaster and have Ant-Man take care of the nothuman cannonball bomb.

Ant-Man: “No, Hawkeye! There are too many lives at stake! And it may take both of us to stop that cannon!”

Hawkeye: “But we can’t just let that psycho walk! We can’t -- .”

Ant-Man: “Hawkeye! Think about it! Think! Please... !”

Hawkeye: “Yeah, I guess you’re right... blast it.”

Scott Lang has his heart in the right place to be a hero even if he is a bit of a goofus about it. I like you, Scott Lang.

Hawkeye runs back into the tent and shoots the goon manning the cannon with a bola arrow. he gets the goon but the goon falls on the button.

Fortunately, its the elevation control, not the fire button.

Unfortunately, there is no firing button, so the firing cycle is automatic.

Fortunately, hitting the elevation control accidentally made the cannon point up instead of at the grandstand. So the bomb is still going to fall and blow everything up but they have time and Ant-Man has an idea.

He has Hawkeye nock his fastest arrow and jumps on it.

Hawkeye shoots the arrow and hits the explosive filled mannequin in the neck right as it reached the top of its trajectory and hung very briefly in the air.

As the bomb starts to plummet, Ant-Man crawls up the arrow onto the bomb-man and to the detonator.

All too soon the bomb hits the ring

but doesn’t detonate.

Ant-Man managed to defuse the bomb!

And he also managed to survive the fall because of course! He’s not destined to die for a long while and only then in a really dumb way.

Thanks to Scott’s experience of watching Raiders of the Lost Ark twenty-seven times he’s a real expert on jumping from one speeding object to another.

Aka, from the falling bomb to a flying ant. Sure.

The heroes see that Taskmaster has escaped while all this was going on but Hawkeye decides he’ll get him next time.

Also? The audience has thought that this was part of the show the whole time so they’ve loved every second of this.

Soon the other Avengers arrive, too late to take part in the plot but in time to help clean up the goon operation.

Also, She-Hulk is in her tattered white dress outfit again. I really think there was some miscommunication here. Like with having her dressed like that on the previous cover and having her dressed like that here in this filler issue.

She doesn’t wear that anymore but its the Iconic outfit for her so if an artist needs a ref to draw her, they’re probably looking at a picture from her Savage She-Hulk series.

And Scott Lang gets the last page because whoops, he left his daughter on a roller coaster the whole time and forgot her in the heat of the adventure. DAD OF THE YEAR!

Scott runs to find her sitting outside the Spin-’n-Heave looking down, head in hands. Scott is worried that something is wrong with her but

Cassie Lang: “I’m a little tired right now, daddy *yawn* but can we come back an’ ride the ‘Spin-’n-Heave’ again t’morrow?”

Scott Lang: “Tomorrow? Again? *sigh* Kids.”

Hah, she tuckered herself out riding the roller coast over and over again but is game to keep doing it again tomorrow. That’s the Cassie Lang that will grow up to join the Young Avengers!

So, Avengers filler but it wasn’t weird or inconsequential. It doesn’t do anything with the ongoing plots but it feels like it does since Scott Lang has come back into the books recently because of the Hank Pym plot. And it follows up on Taskmaster who has gone unaddressed since his introductory stories.

Its just a nice story and by focusing on a guest star and one of the Avengers doing an impromptu team-up it has some fun energy.

Good times.

Hey. Follow @essential-avengers maybe? Its better than the Spin-’n-Heave! ... I can’t actually prove that. But also like and reblog this post because I’m a cool person. ... I can’t actually prove that either...

#Avengers #Taskmaster #Hawkeye #Ant Man #Scott Lang #some roustabouts #some robin hoods #essential avengers #essential marvel liveblogging #some avengers in a one panel cameo in their own book #ant man and hawkeye make a good team weirdly #i'm weirdly fascinated by the Spin 'n Heave #it has a waterfall

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bellarke-angel · 4 years

Text

Long Lost Confessions.

I actually got this idea from @daenerya so thank you for the inspiration! I'll be adding a keep reading thing to this as soon as I can use the laptop, so sorry if this is super long on your timeline rn

[X]

Bellamy had been the first to notice the lack of Clarke's presence as spacekru gathered around the dining hall, prepared to discuss their plans with Sanctum's land. For now, they were forced to stay there, needing the safety blanket of the radiation shield to stop whatever creatures from coming in and tearing them to shreds. But this land was full of ghosts now, people who were taken from them...Clarke almost being one of them. Murphy seemed to clock onto the fact that Bellamy wasn't listening - something not seen often from the tall man - narrowing his eyes at the boy as he scanned the room clearly looking for someone. The scranny built boy sunk back away from Emori and the others, drifting over to his friend, quickly figuring out whom was missing from their group.

Bellamy's friends had known about his feelings for the blonde since the week after they'd landed on the ground. They had to watch as he tortured himself for not making a move, or kicked the dirt when he accidentally pissed Clarke off. It was tiresome. It had been more years than any of them could count on their fingers, and yet the pair still hadn't confessed their attraction to one another. Even whilst they were hurdling through endless space, with Clarke pressumed dead, Bellamy thought about her everyday. Bringing her up as often as he could; as though he was keeping her memory alive.

Murphy nudged the brunette, stripping him from his thoughts and bringing his attention back to reality.

"She left a few minutes ago," He told Bellamy. Murphy's eyes flickered around the half full hall before muttering. "Maybe now is the right time to tell her."

Bellamy's eyebrows knitted together at his friends words, "Tell her what?"

This earned an eyeroll from Murphy, "You know what I'm talking about, man. Tell her before some other war comes flying our way and you don't get the chance."

The man shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, eyes trained to the ground. He'd been longing to tell Clarke how he'd felt about her since he found out she was alive, when he thought he'd lost her again...he could've swore he felt his heart tear into two. Bellamy released a heavy sigh, trying to gather as much courage as he could find within himself. With just a simply nod to his friend, he slipped out of the hall in pursue of the girl he loved.

[X]

Bellamy had been searching for almost twenty minutes to find the missing blonde, the brunette's heart starting to pound with worry that maybe something had happened. But when he pushed opened the doors of the school, he saw a familiar glint of blonde hair perched on one of chairs. It seemed as though Clarke hadn't noticed Bellamy enter the room, her mind and body focused on whatever was in her hand. He could already tell she was deep in thought, mind somewhere else if just for a moment. Bellamy strolled over without a word, placing a hand on the woman's shoulder, startling her.

"Sorry," He apologised quickly, the blonde visibly relaxing when she knew it was Bellamy. She shot him a sad smile. It took one look at what she held in her hand to figure out why. It was a sketch she'd draw of her mother. Bellamy knew the heartache, this was a wound that would never heal. "She'd be proud of you."

Clarke seemed to appreciate those words, her eyes fluttering shut as if she was fighting the tears battling to be released. Bellamy decided to settle himself into the seat beside her, turning it to face her whilst gently removing the paper from Clarke's hands and putting on the table. The man scooped up the blonde's hands - it had always amused him how much smaller they were compared to his - the action causing Clarke to look to him. It was like something electrified their bodies each time their eyes connected. A million unsaid words trapped within them. Bellamy tried to lighten the mood, wanting lift Clarke's spirits, even if it was only by a little.

"Do you remember that night you found out I was afraid of spiders?"

Clarke knew what he was doing, nodding as she fought a smile at the memory.

"How I practically screamed for you to get it out of my room in Arkadia? Only for you to pick it up and wave it in my face." Bellamy hadn't found it amusing at the time, but thinking back on it, he was grateful to see her so happy and care-free for once. He smirked at the memory now, watching as Clarke stifled a small giggle.

"Thee Bellamy Blake, scared of a harmless little spider." She quoted, recalling the memory perfectly in her mind as though it wasn't a million years ago. Her smile fell, "I miss those moments."

Bellamy's heart faltered at how broken she sounded, for so long she'd held the weight of the world on her shoulders. Everyone blaming her, he'd always tried to carry the weight with her, not let her bare it alone. God knows what guilt could do to a person; he gave her hands a squeeze, already missing her smile.

"I miss seeing Jasper's annoying face, and hearing Monty's rambling about algae," Bellamy admitted with a saddened chuckle. They'd lost so many.

"I miss listening to Kane and Jaha's bullshit on the Ark," Clarke said, as much as she hated those times, at least everyone was alive. "I miss my mom."

Bellamy held in a breath at her words, her couldn't tell if she was crying, her eyes focused on her lap as she fiddled with a loose part of her fingernail.

"I wouldn't wish to be back there though," Bellamy spoke, breaking the eery silence between them. Clarke glanced up, "If they hadn't of send us to the ground, I wouldn't have met you. And that...would suck more than any of the shit that's happened."

A genuine smile crept along Clarke's lips, the girl suddenly feeling nervous under Bellamy's gaze.

"You hated me when we first met." Clarke raised an eyebrow, as if challenging him to disagree. Bellamy shrugged.

"I could never hate you, Clarke. Haven't you noticed that by now?"

Something danced in Bellamy's eyes, a look Clarke had seen a lot from the boy when they were having conversations as personal as this. It was as though he was trying to show her something...to tell her something. Bellamy grunted in annoyance at himself, hating himself for not being able to just say it. The man's reaction causing Clarke to worry.

"Bellamy, what—"

"Fuck it," Bellamy cut her off, tossing away all the scared thoughts in his mind and saying what he's wanted to say for so many years, "I could never hate you, Clarke, because I loved you."

The words poured out of his mouth in a rushed, nervous mess, yet Clarke clung to his every word. Her heart thumping heavily against her chest and for once, not because she was afraid. Love. That was the reason. Bellamy was the reason. The boy sat before her looking hopeless, as though he was terrified she wouldn't reciprocate. That was when the shock wore off and a smile formed on Clarke's pale pink lips, happiness fighting off the sad as she stared at the beautiful brown eyed boy before her.

"I loved you too, Bellamy."

It wasn't what he'd been expecting, this whole time he was frightened his feelings were one way. Although everyone claimed different, even Clarke's own mother once. But to hear the words fall from Clarke's own lips, it was like music to his ears.

"I still love you..." The blonde continued, "I've loved you for so long that it hurts."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Was the first question to slip out of Bellamy's mouth. If she'd felt the same way so long ago they could've spared all the angst and been together, properly. Clarke sighed, lifting her shoulders just to let them fall again.

"Fear?...rejection? I never thought you saw me that way, you did always have a thing for brunettes." Clarke told him, knowing it was true, from Raven, to Gina, to the rumours of him having slept with Echo. He seemed to have a type.

Bellamy shook his head. "No-one ever compared to you. No-one knows me like you, I never loved them, Clarke. I think..." Bellamy hesitated for a moment, swallowing before meeting Clarke's curious blue orbs. "You're the only woman I've ever loved."

Clarke edged closer to the boy she'd so longed to lock lips with, the man she'd wished she could snuggle up with, hug, laugh, live happily with. Bellamy seemed to sense what she wanted to do, meeting her halfway as their lips collided. Passion egniting almost instantly.

It was as if they fit like a puzzle, Bellamy's hand finding way to tangle in Clarke's short yet perfect blonde hair. Clarke's hands clasping the sides of Bellamy's face as though he was about to vanish, desperate for his touch. A small whimper falling from her lips as she felt his tongue brush her bottom lip asking for entrance; something Clarke happily granted. The sound of Clarke's quiet moans causing Bellamy's blood to rush through his body, pulling her tighter against him, using the table to his advantage as he allowed his hands to slip down to her ass, hauling her onto the table.

Not once breaking the kiss, Bellamy didn't want any space left between them. His body aching to be as close to the woman in his arms as possible. Clarke ran her fingers over his heavy built jacket as Bellamy's tongue delved inside her mouth, forcing another moan from her lips. The blonde was quick to tug the material down his arms, ensuring that it was no longer in her way of his chiseled to perfection body. A sigh left Clarke as the man she so cared for began peppering delicate kisses down her neck, the blonde arching it to give him more access.

"Bellamy."

A groan erupted from the back of Bellamy's throat hearing her finally moan his name, the man daring to leave a mark on her collar bone, a smirk growing on his lips knowing people would clock onto what had happened. Whilst he's busy littering lovebites wherever he can, he toys with the hem of her shirt before hauling it over her head and tossing it aside. They prayed no-one would walk in. It'd be pretty hard to talk their way out of this one.

The sight of Clarke in his arms, plump pink lips from the kissing, topless, out of breath and needy as fuck, would almost make Bellamy reach his high right there.

"You have no idea how beautiful you look, why the fuck didn't I tell you sooner?" Bellamy complimented, enjoying the sight of Clarke's cheeks burning red. "You look cute when you're flustered."

Clarke rolled her eyes this time, "Just shut up and fuck me."

Bellamy did as he was told, just as eager as she was. His hand massaging Clarke's boob as he closed his mouth around her nipple, sucking lightly before take a bite. The sharp move causing Clarke to hiss in pleasure, arousal pooling in her underwear. The blonde aching to just rip them off. Bellamy's free hand now attempting to remove the clothes that restricted their bodies from touching, the man wanting to feel Clarke's bare skin against his own. Before Clarke had even noticed the pair were stripped of their clothes completely, the blonde only being left in her underwear. Bellamy smirked as he swiped a hand over her vagina, Clarke whined at the contact.

"You do realise these are soaked through?"

Clarke glared, "Well it's your fault, stop pissing around and just take them off already."

Bellamy was quick to tear the fabric from Clarke's body, the sound echoing through the rather large and empty room. If Clarke wasn't so desperate for him to touch her, she'd scold him for that. Bellamy found himself practically drooling as he felt how wet she really was, all of this, just for him...because of him. Bellamy struggled to hold himself together, her touch feeling as though she was lighting a fire along his skin. Her nails running down his back, making him shiver in lust. He wanted her and he wanted her now. In less than a second, Clarke felt a feeling she'd been aching for for a long time. Pleasure washing over her as she moaned, eyes focusing on Bellamy enjoying how much he loved seeing her like this. They'd definitely over-stepped the line of friendship, there was no question about that.

Clarke's hand slipped around to the nape of Bellamy's neck, pulling him into another hungry kiss. The blonde wanting to feel every part of him all over her, her eyes screwed shut as she felt a familiar feeling she knew all too well. It took seconds before she fell over the edge, a panting mess.

"Jesus christ, I haven't felt that good in years." Was all she could say as Bellamy smirked, proud of himself.

The blonde glanced down between them, raising her eyebrows at the sight. Just as she expected. She smiled playfully and Bellamy knew she was about to make some sort of joke.

"Someone's happy to see me."

"I've been happy to see you for a long time, princess. Trust me." The low growl of his voice just made her want him more, bringing him closer once more. This time for something a lot more than fingers, the blonde gnawing her lips as she wrapped her hand around Bellamy's shaft, causing a moan to escape his lips this time. Through all the pleasure, he smiled lovingly at the woman before him, "I love you, Clarke."

A sweet smile found itself on Clarke's lips, her heart fluttering happily at his words. "I love you too, Bellamy."

#smut #bellarke fluff #bellarke #bellarke fanfiction #i'm bellarke trash #bellamy blake #bellamy x clarke #clarke x bellamy #clarke griffin #the 100 #monty green #jasper jordan #john murphy

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cowandcalf · 4 years

Text

Writer’s Month 2020 - To Find A Way

Prompt No.14 - Metamorphosis Part III

Chapter 1 - 8

Chapter 9

Danny has not thought this through. He stormed out of the apartment with a single goal to clear the situation. He needs to know what Steve has told his little girl. He knows Steve wouldn't just promise such a big thing if he didn't mean to deliver his end of the bargain. Danny knows this like it's branded into his bones. Steve's a warm-hearted and sincere soul. Danny has watched him interact with Mary. God, this man has love to give and he gives.

However, Danny still hears Grace's pleading voice. The yearning behind the words to go and see dolphins at Steve's house tears into Danny's soul. What if this isn't something that's going to happen. What then? He wants nothing more than to make her wish come true. But it's out of his hands. He needs Steve to fulfill his baby girl's dream.

Also on AO3

Danny's concentration gets pulled back on the road when the car bumps hard over stones or a rotten branch. Shit. It is night, and stupidly dark, and he drives like a love-drunken lunatic through fucking dense jungle to get to Steve. He's a bit ashamed of his intentions. There is no sense in lying to himself. He wants to see Steve again. As if he hasn't had a good chunk of the man's time during lunch. But the more Danny spends time with this mysterious guy the thirstier he gets. Danny drives up to Steve's secret garden under the pretext to talk to him about Grace. That's a big reason to skid over the pathetic road at night, caking his Camaro with mud but there's more to it. He can't fool himself. He wants more. So much more it scares him. And he knows Steve only for a little more than over a week. The intensity of the emotions racing through his veins makes his hands shake.

The tires work hard to get through the soaked soil on the dirt road. The jungle looks spooky with the darkness only lit by the bright cons of light. The rain drops constantly on the roof. Danny curses. He doesn't even know if Steve's up there. What if he spends the night at the beach house? God knows where that is. Danny grabs his cell. Fuck, no reception. He is one fine, stupid detective is what he is.

The shape of Steve's huge truck appears in the light beam. Danny throttles the engine and rolls gently onto the wide-open place that spreads out in front of Steve's 'flowers hop'. That word's a joke for what it hides in the backyard. It's the gate to a secret garden with layers as deep as the universe.

Danny pushes the car door close. "Steve?" He shouts into the night. The windows of the house are sparsely lit. Danny has no idea in what condition he might find Steve. Last time, he sneaked up on him with a drawn weapon. "STEVE? Yo, are you home? It's me, Danny!" He looks around but the darkness is too dense. He can't see a damn thing over in the scrubs a few feet from where he's standing. He stares right into a pitch-black hole. The clouded, rainy night swallows all the remaining light. The first rumble of thunder adds a dangerous and audacious touch to the atmosphere. It's a wild beauty and makes Danny think of Steve. Untamed and mysterious.

And jungle nights aren't silent and peaceful. In fact, it's loud with all the rustling, swooshing noises all around, quite apart from the fact that a bunch of wild animals seems to have a meeting somewhere close. The air is filled with insects despite the rain. Gah, the whirring and chirping isn't particularly reassuring either. The things you do for love. Danny scrubs with one hand over his face.

"Steve, are you home? Don't throw grenades, okay?" He knocks on the door. "It's Danny! I keep shouting my name until I'm sure you've noticed my presence." He starts pounding on the door. "Steve?"

Okay, again with the heartbeat racing. Danny feels like a teenager but there is also the rising worry if Steve's on the floor frozen in memories unable to snap out of it.

A new wave of distinct thunder rolls through the thick clouds and swallows most of the sound.

Danny presses down the door handle and the heavy wooden door clicks open. "Whoa, at least, I don't have to shoot the lock open." He murmurs to himself. "Steve! I'm coming in! It's me, Danny, the guy from lunchtime. Grace's father. STEVE?" He reaches the state where he keeps calling Steve's name ongoing.

The apartment is empty, meaning, Steve's not there but he must be around because there are hints, he's close. The back door is wide open. The couch is a pull-out bed. The sheets are rumpled, and several cushions lie on the floor. Danny turns his back on the portrayed privacy right in front of his eyes. The image of a sleeping Steve, a naked sleeping Steve, all mused hair and hoarse voice, is now burned on the inside of his eyelids. He suppresses a moan of want that threatens to escape over his lips. Sweet hell.

The small lamp on the floor next to the bed is lit. Soft music fills the air from a radio Danny can't see. He counts three coffee mugs staying around. And dirt. There's so much dirt on the floor. Like an inside dirt road leading out to the garden. The big old wooden table is scattered with empty crates. Some are filled with seedlings, some are empty. It's an organized chaos but still. "Steve? Hey, where are you? I'm coming out, stepping through the door to your garden in three seconds, okay?" Danny gets anxious. No word from Steve. Not a tiny speck of his clothes or his tattoos under golden skin. "Steve, I'm getting worried! If you do not show yourself in three seconds, I'll pull my gun and come searching for you!" Danny snaps the holster safety off and is about the reach for his gun when Steve bursts into the room.

"Danny! Jesus Christ! I hear you shouting for five minutes already. Didn't you hear me answering? I even screamed your name!" Steve's eyes are comically wide, and he talks so fast Danny wants to laugh. But he can't. What happened to Steve? How can someone look like this?

The thunder moves closer and the dull, heavy rumble vibrates in Danny's chest. "Why do you wear a headlight?" He shouts over to where Steve stands holding on to a create. Danny shields his eyes with a hand. "I can't see shit, Steve, take the light out of my face." Steve is caked from head to toe, caked with mud and wet. Danny stares. "What happened to you? This time you cannot make me believe you haven't been crawling through the jungle, or through your garden." He blurts. "Who looks like that? You covered in mud like you had fun rolling around in it. Don't tell me you miss the freaking insane training you had in BUD/S. I read about that Hellweek stuff. How do they call the mud wrestling exercises? Mudflats? Did you need a bonding moment with dirt?"

Steve hauls the create onto the large worktop next to the back door. "What are you talking about? Mudflats? What – I, no. Nothing like that." He switches off the headlight. "It's nice to see you, too, Danny." Steve smiles over to him. "And sorry to disappoint you again. No crawling through dark jungle patches, just taking care of my seedlings."

Danny nods and escapes into banter. Banter means shallow and safe water. Because this wild, dauntless man who looks like he took a mud-bath makes Danny want to fuck him six ways from Sunday. "Yeah, nice to see you too, Steve. I didn't hear you shouting my name." He clips the holster safety close and leans against the nearest furniture. "What's with the mud, huh? Are all people who do garden work that dirty?" Danny waves his hand and takes Steve's appearance in. His stomach swoops and smoldering lust crawls south and starts to fill his cock.

Steve chuckles. "Why do you even bother how I look like? I'm passionate, is all. I love to feel the soil in my hands. I have to get my seedlings into the ground." Steve can't stop smiling.

"You have to get your flowers into the ground – at night with a headlight – when a big ass thunderstorm rolls in. What happened to gardening by day?" Danny makes wide eyes at Steve and carefully lets the tension turn into a mad swarm of butterflies behind his belly button.

"Hmm?"

"You heard me the first time."

Steve mimics Danny's posture and crosses the arms over his massive chest. Danny pushes every decent thought in the back of his mind. He gets harder with every second he watches Steve's dirt-covered skin. The guy wears a tank top and the same old, threadbare jeans. His feet are black from standing in the mud.

"I had stuff to do. Places to be. Haven't planned to be back that late. That's the boring explanation for the night work. No extraordinary SEAL explanation except that I like to use the rain to water the seedlings once they're in the ground. Because once out in the open the young plants must be covered with water and mud profusely to protect the gentle baby-roots, so they can grow. Rain is easier, saves time."

Danny is mildly impressed. "And you've learned all that from your mother?"

"Yes, that and much more. I grow vegetables too. And I cook."

"Do you want me to throw confetti?"

Steve's laugh is infectious. "You don't look so happy about the thunder, Danny."

Danny tries not to twitch but the roaring thunder creeps closer. "I don't like the lightning that comes with the thunder and mostly there's driving rain in the middle of the storm. I don't like that either."

Steve pushes his butt off the table and reaches for the last crate. He studies Danny over his shoulder, his dirt-covered muscular shoulder where ink peeks through. How can unwashed skin be so damn sexy? "You won't be struck by lightning if that's what worries you. Too many trees, Danny. But the fact that you are here and the fact that there is a thunderstorm gathering tells me you need something from me. So, uhm did you miss me, Danny? Is that the reason you drop by that late? Or what can I do for you?"

Danny performs a helpless motion with one hand. Grace! Dolphins! Wow. Did he forget about why he came here in the first place? No. he did not, did he? Steve's like a freaking black hole. He sucks Danny's entire attention right up on the spot. "Well, I came for a special reason but that can wait. The talk can wait. And what if I missed you?"

It takes a split second for Steve to shut Danny out. It's like a blind gets pulled down behind his eyes. Danny watches the not-visible emotions race over Steve's face. He might be a master in hiding feelings but some seep through. Danny can't see them but he senses them with every fiber of his body. It's like his body hair has turned into an insane hyper-sensitive seismograph.

"You wanna get dirty?" Steve lifts the create and walks closer.

"What are you even asking?" Danny can't balance fast enough. The hard, hot image of Steve's large, rough hand wrapped around his cock knocks the wind right out of him.

"Are you afraid of the dark, Danny? Ready for some funky gardening? Guerilla gardening might be the right word for that. Hmm? Up for that?" Steve's voice is black velvet on Danny's skin.

There's so much hidden meaning behind the questions Steve's asking. Danny is overwhelmed. The sudden heat that blazes behind his chest and between his legs makes it hard to focus. Why can nothing happen in a moderate pace with this guy? Danny pretends to be dense as concrete. If the dull fire in Steve's eyes is a harbinger of what lies beneath Danny will burn with a wild cry on his lips. Holy shit.

Steve challenges Danny. And Goddamnit, challenge's fucking accepted. Danny steps forward and holds Steve's heavy gaze. "You think I'm a damn pussy."

"I might," dark voiced words setting Danny on fire.

"You think I'm a freaking putz because I don't like thunderstorms." Danny tugs the shirt up and rushes through the buttons to pop them open.

Steve leans in with the create pressed to his abs. "What the fuck are you doing, D?"

"That's my best shirt. I don't need to roll around in the dirt with my best shirt on." He tosses the crumpled piece of fabric over to Steve's bed. He doesn't miss. Claim announced.

"Are you fucking with me here, Detective Williams?" Steve growls with his head turned to where Danny's shirt has landed on his bed.

"Does it look like I'm that kind of guy?"

Steve breathes heavily with parted lips. "Nope."

Danny's hard on pulses in his briefs. "Good." He unclips his service weapon and his badge and puts both on the chair next to him. "Got a second headlight, big guy?" His nipples pucker instantly with the way Steve's eyes touch his skin. He toes his shoes off and bends down to pull his socks off, too. He wiggles his toes. He stands the sensual pain with what Steve's eyes carve into his chest.

"Right behind you," Steve's breath fans over his skin. He's so close. "Your pants will get wet and dirty."

Danny unbuckles his belt and pulls it through the straps with a sharp move. The belt buckle clatters when he lets it drop on the floor. "I'm not putting your baby plants in the ground stark naked."

Steve's crooked smile is lewd. "Let's head out then."

Steve gets rid of his tank top outside. The heavy rain pelts down on their bare backs. Danny's pants are soaked in seconds. The wet fabric clings to his thighs. The wet, rain-soaked soil is downright luscious. It's soft and kneeling in it, digging the toes into it fills Danny with a light joy. The rain is cold, but his skin is hot and fiery. It's the craziest thing he has ever done. "When have you become so wild?" He shouts and laughs.

"I don't know what that even means." Steve answers with a lightness to his voice that makes Danny want to lean over to taste the rain on his shoulder.

Steve takes Danny's hands in his and shows him how to drill a small hole with a digit. "Do it like that," he doesn't let go, "you make the holes and I put the seedlings in." Steve's full voice drowns out the thunder easily.

Danny watches their mud-covered hands how they work side by side lit by the small beam of light attached to their foreheads. Danny loses the feeling for time. A thing that seems to happen when he's in Steve's garden. They become a part of nature with the wind tearing at their wet hair and the constant flickering of lightning followed by a sound as if heaven cracks open. The storm is right above them. Steve's body position is relaxed, his movements are floating and beautiful, skilled, and calming. "Okay, that's it."

"Already?"

"Yeah, already." Steve is suddenly in his personal space. He switches off the lamp first before he pulls Danny's headlight off his head.

The darkness isn't so dark. The flickering light of the sky reveals the hunger on Steve's face. Everything fades away. Nothing matters but Steve, kneeling in the dirt, with the rain streaming down his ripped, muscular chest. Danny's eyes dart over to watch how Steve shuffles closer. His knees bump into Danny's. Danny catches Steve's ardent look and the slow move of his arm. Danny groans and leans into the rough grip when Steve wraps his dirt-covered hand around his neck.

Danny cups Steve's face and waits with a racing heart. Steve presses his lips to Danny's for a searing kiss. It's wet and slick, loaded with desire and want. Steve tastes of rain and hope. He pushes his tongue hard into Danny's mouth. Danny groans like he has waited a lifetime for this to happen. He holds Steve's head with both hands, fingers spread wide, and falls backward. He pulls Steve on top of him. Danny opens his lips to get as much of Steve's eager tongue into his mouth as possible. He drinks rain from Steve's lips. The guttural moans Steve pours into his mouth go straight to his straining cock.

Steve's weight presses him down. The wet soil is a strange sensation on his bare skin. The little stones sting, and leaves, and tiny twigs scratch. Danny wants more. The wet fabric of his pants hinders him to spread his legs, but Steve's big hands grab his knees and press them apart. The tear of material only makes Danny want to bite Steve. It makes him wild.

"Wrap your legs around me," Steve says between kisses.

Danny can't hear with the ongoing wind and the rain still pouring down on them. He smears mud over Steve's chest and bucks up into Steve's crotch. Danny's head falls back when his hard on rubs against Steve's bulge. "Oh, fuck."

Steve shuts him up with wild, biting kisses. He licks and sucks at Danny's lips and simultaneously pushes Danny deeper into the dirt. Steve rocks his hips and grinds down on Danny's hard cock. He shows him what he wants. Danny clings to him, hooks his legs up his hip, and crosses his ankles behind his back. He grunts into Steve's open mouth when he gets lifted from the ground into Steve's lap. This crazy guy hauls him up to walk with him over to the lanai. Danny bites along Steve's jawline and tightens the grip of his legs around Steve's waist. He grabs at Steve's pecs, runs his hands over broad shoulders and fans all his fingers through dark, wet hair.

Danny doesn't feel the jet of the shower. It's the same temperature as the rain. Steve washes the dirt from his hair with gentle moves. The water washes away the mud on their skin. Danny peels his pants off and steps out of them. He watches Steve do the same. He wraps his fingers around Steve's hard member and sucks one of Steve's nipples between his lips. He gasps into another round of blinding hot kisses. Without another word Steve yanks him back up. Arms as strong as steel are wrapped around Danny's waist. Steve seals his lips with his and carries him inside.

Steve throws Danny onto the pull-out bed and crawls over to box him in. He towers over him on all four. Steve's cock is a heavy weight between his legs. His gaze is like a whole new universe. And Danny drowns.

"Make me come, babe," Danny whispers.

Steve's bruising kiss is most welcome.

The back door is still wide open.

TBC

#writersmonth2020 #h50 8.14 #mcdanno #fic rec #mcdanno fic rec #ongoing story #prompt fill #this includes smut #mild smut #thank you for reading guys

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archadianskies · 4 years

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I can't choooooosee so uhhh SWATverse any or all???: When the STRONGEST one gets injured, and they all flail around, trying to figure out how to take care of the one who always takes care of them. //Working together to carry the injured one. //“Why did you save me?” “That’s what family does.”

[SWATverse fic ‘numb until you burn it’]

The rookie goes down heavy and though technically he knew it was going to happen, it still doesn’t quite prepare him for the sight of the RK900 bracing himself behind the huge custom shield and taking the brunt of an M430 grenade. It had been the android’s idea, too, and he’d quite literally tossed them over the barricade out of harm’s way before facing the barrage alone. The fucking idiot.

And how the fuck did those backwater rednecks get their hands on a Mk 19 grenade launcher anyway? Everything had been a manageable level of chaos until they brought that out.

A more violent subset of Humanity First, far more vocal, far more violent, and far less uninhibited about openly attacking Jericho. They’ve been a pain in the DPD’s ass for months now, starting off as yet another slew of loud but harmless bigots escalating to a very real, very violent threat.

When Markus received an encrypted message warning him of ‘humanity prevailing against unnatural abominations’, well, Fowler didn’t treat that lightly. The three RK units each had a separate job- the RK200 coordinating the evacuation inside, the RK800 leading defence measures on the perimeter and the RK900 in his SWAT unit on the frontline.

“Captain, they have a Mk 19 grenade launcher mounted on a jeep.” Rook’s eyes were black with green lenses before he blinked them away back to their usual grey. “I will provide cover and you will get the team inside and fall back to my brother.”

“Rookie-”

“I apologise in advance.” And then his feet weren’t on the ground anymore as the android lifted him by his chestplate, reaching over to grab Volkova by hers and then hefted them over the barricade to be joined by the others moments later. David had just enough time to scramble to his feet and peek over the barricade to watch Rook deflect the grenade with the impressive custom shield built for his line. The force of the blast pushed him back a good six to eight feet, and with their new target acquired the fuckers fired round after round. The shield held, but only just. For now.

“Volkova, get the others to Connor and you make sure the perimeter holds.” He grabs her arm, face stern. “Do not let them breach, you hear me?”

“Yessir.”

“Otto, Ishi, you’re with me. We get the rookie out.” He snapped his fingers and made a beckoning gesture, the two of them breaking away as the rest of the team left to find Connor. “Direct covering fire, concentrating on that fucking jeep and I’ll get the rookie to safety.”

“Yes captain.” They nod just as another grenade makes impact and his heart catches in his throat as Rook crumples to his knees, flames eating away at his gear, his uniform. The android hurriedly throws off his helmet and chest armour, ripping away the top few layers of clothing before it could make contact with his skin. Too late, though, because the heat is already too much and David watches in horror as the skin burns away in patches as Rook frantically tries to pat the flames out.

“Go, sir!” Otto shouts as they shoot at the jeep, aiming for the grenade launcher and hoping to damage it or at least take out its operator before it can fire again. David runs and skids to the rookie’s side, forcing him to drop to the damp muddy ground to let the moisture put him out. His LED is a bright neon red in the dark and looks up at him in confusion.

“Captain why-”

“Shut up. Damage report?” David snaps, trying to focus on the mission at hand and not on the fact the android is partly melted through and has exposed wiring on his hands and all the way up arms.

“Structural integrity unstable. Dermal loss. System heat critical. Thirium loss at 74% due to evaporation. Power at 150% capacity, thermodynamic conversion active.” The rookie is gasping for breath, desperately trying to ventilate his insides.

“How much Thirium do you have to lose to shutdown?”

“85%.” Rook closes his eyes, wincing. “Percentage is climbing rapidly. I will go into emergency shutdown in less than five minutes.”

“Then you better come with me.”

“I can’t.” He shakes his head, and he looks very human and very scared. “Too much power and too little thirium. Ratio is incorrect. I won’t make it.”

“How far can you make it?” David grabs him by the shoulders and hauls him to at least sit up, grateful the fancy shield is still standing to give them cover.

“A few feet at most. You have to go, Captain Allen.”

“No man left behind.” He hisses, giving him a firm shake. “Now get up.”

“I’ll only-”

“You’ll make it far enough.” He says it within enough conviction to believe in it himself as he shoulders the android and helps him back upright. “God why did they make you so fucking big?” David grit his teeth, knees nearly buckling when Rook leaned on him heavily.

“For this purpose.” The android gestures clumsily around him. There’s a satisfying bang a good distance behind them and he doesn’t need to look to know someone’s taken out that jeep.

“Alright, not much further. We can make it rookie.” He sees Otto and Ishikawa ahead, waving them over and they dart across to catch Rook just as the android collapses. His LED blinks red like a heartbeat; emergency shutdown mode. David curses.

“Fuck he must weigh like, 400 pounds!” Otto groans, trying to lift the android up.

“Ishi, you cover us.” David orders as he coordinates to lift him up at the same time. “On three. One. Two. Three-!” Without Rook conscious enough to stumble along, the android’s dead weight makes it difficult for even two grown men to shoulder him on either side and drag him along. But they do it, and they make it, because David will not settle for anything less.

It’s a good thing they’re at Jericho and Jericho has a Med Bay. Even if the rookie is an RK900 requiring the attention of the Kamskis, at least he can be stabilised here. The skirmish outside seems to finally be wrapping up and only when Rook is safely under the care of the medroids does he rush back to the frontline. The night isn’t over yet.

*~*

There is a weight on his chest, and it is warm and organic in nature. He can feel a steady heartbeat, can feel the inhale and exhale of breath drawn in and out. It is a quick tempo, too quick to belong to a human. Something wet presses to his chin and when he opens his eyes there is a German Shepherd sprawled atop him, nosing and sniffing him curiously.

“Rosie?”

“And the rookie’s awake at long last.” Captain Allen huffs a laugh, blinking tiredly over at him. His eyes are bloodshot, as are the eyes of the team who are in various states of stirring awake from their uncomfortable positions slumped in uncomfortable chairs. “I’d really rather you not make this a habit.”

“That is not fair.” Rook protests quietly. “Buela was in hospital last week and MacMaster only five days prior.”

“It’s different when it’s you.” Rajasingham grumbles, poking his temple though not with any malice. “We can deal with hospitals and blood that’s red. When it’s you we panic because there’s no real first aid we can apply.”

He cannot refute that, so he lowers his gaze and moves his hands to pat Rosie’s soft fur. She licks his chin before resting her head on his shoulder, and he wraps his arms loosely around her. She is warm and reminds him so much of Sumo back home. Oh. Wait-

“Connor’s fine.” Captain Allen reassures him with a tired smile. “Don’t worry. He and your dad visited earlier but had to leave to deal with all the arrests. They’ll be back soon, don’t worry.”

He looks around at all their faces, their tired, worn faces still fighting off the urge to sleep even though they all desperately need it. It is difficult not to buckle under the magnitude of their actions, not when the logical course of action would have been to leave him behind for the greater good.

“Why did you save me?”

“Because,” Captain Allen leans forward to give his hand a squeeze, “that’s what family does.”

#captain allen #rk900 #detroit: become human #annie writes: dbh #i didn't know if you wanted rook or caleb sorry anon!#i stuck with the swatverse fam #oh anon #adventures in text posts

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bbrandy2002 · 4 years

Text

Wacky Drabble #18: The Turkey Drop

This is part of @emceesynonymroll weekly wacky drabbles.

Prompt: What if I dont see it

Im a day late on this one, wasn't sure if I even wanted to post it, but, here we are.

A/N: I can't take credit for the idea of this as it comes from an old show and I'm just recreating one of the Thanksgiving episodes from it, sort of.

Summary: The gang gathers together in Ramsford to celebrate Thanksgiving with the Beaumonts. Let's just say, all hell is gonna break loose.

Warning: Turkeys may be harmed but I'm choosing to defy reality and believe they are all okay. If you don't feel you can, this is the heads up not to read 🦃

I put a "read more" in every story, sometimes they work and sometimes they don't. Crossing my fingers.

**********

Riley has always respected the customs and traditions that have been carried down throughout Cordonian history. Being the American- born, Queen of Cordonia, she opted to celebrate this holiday during her first year of marriage, in private- just she, Liam, and their close friends. She didn't want the Cordonian people to ever feel that she was trying to "Americanize" their great country. Liam, however, loved the idea of having one day out of the year for reflection and giving thanks, as this was something even Cordonian's would appreciate.

It was during their second year of marital bliss, the King presented this idea to the Royal Council, where it was passed almost unanimously. Madeleine was the only dissenting vote, having nothing to be thankful for.

It was decided the third Thursday of every November would be designated, Thanksgiving, in Cordonia.

What you are about to read is the real and true account of how the Duchy of Ramsford chose to kick off thier first official Thanksgiving.

**********

The weather was chillier than normal that day for the typically warmer climate of the Mediterranean country. Ramsford citizens bundled in light coats, braving the elements, in anticipation of the first Thanksgiving festival hosted by their Duke and Duchess. As festival goers wafted through the rows of vendors who were preparing enticing delicacies synonymous of their homeland, purchasing turkey related memorabilia, and partaking in games often seen at these event, they eagerly awaited the appearance of their very popular royals.

Maxwell had insisted he be the one in charge of putting this shindig together, planning every single detail, even down to the location of each port a potty. Bertrand was all too happy to oblige, having no free time with a toddler and a brand new baby. The only request made- absolutely, under no circumstances, were those 'blasted, overly feathered, menaces' of his, to be in attendance. Well, of course not, Maxwell had another kind of bird in mind, ones that were more in the spirit of Thanksgiving, and he would make sure each family in Ramsford had one of their own.

Drake walked morosely behind Liam and Riley, who were busy greeting their adoring citizens with Bertrand and Savannah. He wasn't in a festive mood since being dumped a few days ago. It wasn't that he was in a serious relationship yet with the sexually oppressed American from Illinois, but, who she left him for....Neville.

"Ohhh Walker!"

Drake cringed at the unbearable voice calling out to him and he had no use for entertaining her today. He clutched the whiskey flask, a former fiancee had given him, preparing to drown out the incessant mockery that was sure to follow.

"So...", Olivia eyed him with a devilish grin and her signature raised brow "...enjoying the single life again?", she taunted.

He huffed, "at least I had an "again", what's your excuse?"

She cackled, "Touche". Her eyes roamed the surroundings as they continued to stroll along, her mood shifting with curiousity "where the hell is Maxwell, he's usually at every one of these goddamn things making a fool of himself".

Bertrand turned to the Duchess, having finished with the receiving line of guests, clearing his throat, "My brother is off preparing a surprise that will be the delight of all of Ramsford today".

Savannah looked at Bertrand adoringly, "That's right Bertie, we are giving away a free turkey to enjoy with their families this holiday season".

"That's very generous and kind of you both, I'm sure your people will be very grateful, especially those less fortunate", Liam nodded, clasping Bertrand approvingly on the shoulder.

Drake shook his head, "I still can't believe Maxwell put this whole thing on himself, I don't trust it", sipping the last remnants of his drink.

"Drake, don't be a hater. Besides, Maxwell has proved himself to be more than responsible and mature of late", Savannah defended.

"What if I don't see it?"

The group continued to enjoy the festivities and fanfare as the sun finally broke through the thickened clouds, shining a ray of warmth below. A group text message from Maxwell came through as each of them checked their phones simultaneously, telling them to look up.

Bertrand, Savannah, Liam, Riley, Drake and Olivia, each shielded their eyes from the bright sun as they looked toward the sky eagerly. The faint sound of a helicopter getting louder as it approached closer to their location. A crowd began to gather around them as Bertrand smiled on proudly.

Riley pointed up excitedly, "Look! It has a banner on the back of the helicopter".

"Happy...Thanksgiving...from the Beaumonts", Liam read aloud as the banner became clearer. Savannah and Bertrand acknowledged the ohh's and aww's of the crowd, who were enchanted by the extravagant display taking place 2000 feet above them.

"What the hell just came out it?", Drake squinted to get a better look, as a small object appeared to have fallen from the large chopper.

"I don't know, maybe its a skydiver...", Riley answered as she looked on in anticipation.

Olivia furrowed her brows, "I don't see a parachute yet... wait!...there's another one and a third".

"Those can't be skydivers...I just can't quite make out what they are though", a bewildered Liam replied before his eyes widened with realization,"OH MY GOD...THEY'RE TURKEYS!!"

The crowd began to scatter in panic as live turkeys came crashing down around them, most of them landing on the soft tarps vendors had set up. Brown and white feathers intermingling through the air as stunned turkeys flapped wildly in anger. Patrons pushing and shoving one another in desperate search for safety, running for their lives.

A stunned Bertrand, scrambled to calm the masses to no avail. Savannah cried out loudly, "Oh my god, the humanity!", after ducking under a table, pulling Bertrand down with her.

Bastien made every attempt to shield Liam and Riley, who clung protectively to one another, while dodging and weaving through crowds of fearful people, stray feathers and irate falling turkey's. They stopped only briefly as they passed a padre, recieved their last rites and hauled ass to a picnic shelter. As the helicopter circled the grounds to launch a second wave of birds, Liam hurridly scrambled to reach Maxwell to cease the unintended assault.

Drake took off running with Olivia hot on his heels. He banged relentlessly on the door of the nearest porta-a-potty where an older gentleman allowed a frantic Drake and Olivia to hide. Due to being unable to hold three grown people, Drake stood in the doorway, having just enough room to shield his head. Olivia peeked over his broad shoulders as the last of the fowl fell on a tent across from them. They stood in astonishment momentarily, unsure if it was safe to exit while screams and the jumbling shrill of turkeys reverberate off their metal enclosure.

The older gentleman with them, finally spoke out when something strange caught his eye, "what are they doing?", gesturing at the 15 or so gathered birds in front of them.

Drake scratched his head in thought, "I think the little bastards are...organizing"

"I've seen this before", Olivia replied surely, "they're strategizing... its basic battle tactics...they're planning a counter attack".

Drake motioned to the formation of incoming turkeys, questioningly, "You've seen this before?"

Olivia patted her clothing down and began pulling knifes from various hidden holsters underneath, a determined look sketched across her face. "People...birds...whats the difference, they're both full of shit. I'm a Nevrakis, damn it...I will not be turkied to death by these...disgusting chicken wanna be's...you with me or not, Walker?". She holds up a knife that barely misses his face as he stumbles backwards off the edge to avoid it.

Drake swipes the blade from her steady hand, his dark brown eyes filled with savagery, "Let's end these fuckers!".

2 hours later...Ramsford Memorial Hospital

"Drake, can you hear me?", a concerned Liam stood at the bedside of his lifelong friend, when Drake's eyes began to flutter open.

"Liam...wh...where am I?"

"You're in the hospital buddy, you've got a nasty concussion and a broken nose, but, the doctors had a head CT ordered and it didn't show any serious trauma or permanent damage...you will, however, have to stay here overnight for observation".

Drake glanced around the room, grimacing at the shooting pain from his throbbing, bandaged nose and the seering pressure behind his eyes. The overhead lights making his already blurry vision so much worse. He attempted to speak, but, his voice was hoarse and dry. Liam reached for a cup of water that sat on his bed tray and assisted him in drinking.

Drake licked his lips, "what happened? The last thing I remember was grabbing the knife from her", he nodded at Olivia, who was standing in amusement at the end of his bed, "why the hell am I'm so jacked up?".

Liam looked to Olivia, he, himself not entirely sure of the exact circumstamces for Drake's injuries, hoping she could shed light on the situation.

Olivia moved around the bed to stand next to Liam, an uncontained smiled slipping across her pale face, "It was a giant Turkey...smashed right into your face", she clapped her hands together loudly, "Smack!". A light chuckle escaped her as both men glared back with astonished expressions.

Several seconds of silence commenced as that information began to process.

"What?", Drake snapped.

Olivia explained that Maxwell must have had one turkey left because another one came barrelling out of no where, dropping like a stealth bomber, and crashing right into his face. Never one to mince words, she took the opportunity to let him know that his face looks better now that most of it is covered in bandages.

Liam took in a deep breath, "I'm going to take my leave now that I can see you are well. I told Bertrand I would attend the press conference with him...apparently, Maxwell thought turkey's could fly".

Drake rolled his eyes, mumbling to himself, "Responsible and mature, huh?", he looked back to Liam with a grateful smirk, "thanks Liam for being here".

Liam clapped Drake's arm, "No problem", he turned to Olivia as he made his way for the door, "you coming?".

"Yeah", Olivia grabbed her coat and clutch that were laying across one of the hospital chairs and followed Liam to the door. She hesitated before fully exiting, turning sharply on her stiletto heels. "You did...well out there today soldier".

"I got clobbered in the face by a fucking bird, Liv!", he shouted back, grabbing his nose in pain as his head jostled from his over-exaggerated retort.

"Even so...", she trailed, as a long pause followed, the silence nearly becoming awkward. A small hint of compassion crept through her strong features and Drake instantly recognized the change in her demeanor.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Walker".

"Happy Thanksgiving...Liv".

#the royal romance #wacky drabbles #liam x riley #drake walker #maxwell beaumont #thanksgiving #long post #wkrp in cincinnati #bbrandy2002

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smol-and-grumpy · 5 years

Text

Dear Dean (Chapter 9)

Re-post

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC (Jamie Blum)

WC: 5.8k

Summary: After taking Saint Lo, by sheer dumb luck, Lieutenant Dean Winchester from the 29th Infantry Division, Baker Company, received a truckload of replacements for his platoon that was falling apart. Little did he know, that one recruit would change his life forever.

Chapter Warnings: There’s angst in this chapter and a little sexy time but still mostly angst that might make you shed a tear or two

SERIES MASTERLIST

August 17th, 1944

“Bambi!” Dean shouted out, his voice hoarse and strained as he tried to be louder than the incoming mortars and shells. He felt numb, his ears were ringing with the thumbing of his own heartbeat.

Move, move! He willed himself, shouting to his brain, commanding it to make his body move, directing the orders to his legs that stalled mid-motion.

Nothing.

It felt like an eternity before his body finally listened to him and Dean swung his rifle back around his shoulders before he launched himself forward.

He was close to Bambi, but not close enough. It wouldn’t stop him, though. Dean leapt forward, making himself longer than he was, stretching his arms out as far that they would go and further still. He launched himself towards her, his palms touching her combat jacket as he pushed her out of the way of the mortar shell with all his might. They both fell from the force of his push, crushing her underneath his weight on landing.

Her head hit the cobblestones with a dull thud. Her helmet, that she didn’t secure right, rolled away over dust and gravel. The mortar touched down, logged itself between two cobblestones a mere 10 feet away from them. Dean looked at it, all the soldiers were looking at him and Bambi, their faces frowning. Dean already saw his life pass him by. Not now, not the fuck now.

The mortar was a dud and failed to detonate.

“Cover!” Lafitte yelled and Dean scrambled up while the others took cover.

Goddamn it, Bambi!

Dean quickly got back on his feet, yelling for his men to lay suppressive fire so that he could get Bambi to safety. Then Dean hauled her by her jacket - up and over his shoulder - and carried her in a crouched run toward the next building that was shielded from the line of fire. He shouted for a medic, his vocal cords rougher and more raw with every noise that came out of him.

“Medic! Medic! I need a fucking medic!”

Dean let her down, propping her back against the wall and he placed his fingers on her pulse point. He knew that she was alive, he just wanted to be extra sure.

Her head lolled around. She was in and out of consciousness, her eyes blinking open and closed, completely unfocused. Dean felt helpless. He wanted to stay with her, but he also knew that he had to go back to support his men.

“Medic! I need a fucking medic! Medic!”

He didn’t want to stop yelling for one, and he would keep on until one of them would show the fuck up.

Finally, Shurley came rushing in, his hand streaked with dried blood and dirt and for a moment, Dean just watched him trying to clean his hands on his combats before he touched Bambi’s throat to check her pulse. Dean wanted to say that he’d done that and he should fucking do something else already.

“I got this, Lieutenant. You go!” Shurley broke Dean’s train of thought.

Dean blinked, still trying to figure out his next move, but then the shouting and the hissing of shells came back and he retreated, sprinting back to support his men in the front line of the battle.

***

After the briefing Dean took off running towards the deuce-and-a-half where the walking wounded were being patched up. They captured some POW’s and defeated the Germans. Their only hope now was that words didn’t get out to Brest yet but all of that was secondary to Dean. He sprinted the last couple of yards.

He spotted her from afar immediately, sitting on the flatbed with her eyes closed and her back leaned against the metal of the truck. When Dean came closer, he could hear her humming, as if it was a way for her to calm her nerves. He stood there, listening and after a while he recognized the song. It’s what they heard a lot in Vire. The people who were left in that bombed out city had only one record and they played it up and down. Normally Dean would mind hearing a song over and over again but in that case, he didn’t. It was a great song and when Cas translated the lyrics to them, Dean listened in closely.

Et puis un jour tu m'as quittée, depuis je suis désespérée. “One day you left me, I’ve been desperate since.” Cas explained while the song was still playing in the back.

Je te vois partout dans le ciel. Je te vois partout sur la terre. Tu es ma joie et mon soleil, Ma nuit, mes jours, mes aubes claires. “I see you everywhere in the sky. I see you everywhere on the earth. You are my joy and my sun. My nights, my days, my clear dawns.”

Tu es partout car tu es dans mon cœur. Tu es partout car tu es mon bonheur. “You are everywhere because you are in my heart. You are everywhere because you are my happiness.”

Every each soldier was listening to Castiel that evening. Some of them had tears in their eyes when they thought of the loved ones.

Dean didn’t feel like interrupting her. He’d rather just stand there and listen to her humming, but when he saw that the people around him were already preparing to move out, he had to. He took a leap, jumped on the truck and crouched next to her.

“You alright?” He asked hesitantly, his voice a low whisper and then he shifted closer so he was right beside her. His fingers curled into fists as he held himself back. They were itching to reach out to her, touch her and feel for himself that she’s alive and still here.

She opened her eyes to meet his. They were still big and brown, and call Dean weird, but it reminded him of home.

“I’m fine, Lieutenant.” She tried to smile, Dean could see, but it was strained and he could tell that her head probably hurt from where it smashed against the concrete. Her back was most likely bruised black and blue from his weight when he shielded her from that mortar.

He nodded at her. Of course she wasn’t fine but he knew better than to ask again. “You’re hitching a ride with Battalion staff to our next meeting point.”

Bambi shook her head and tried to get out of the truck bed. “No, I can –” She curled up in pain and Dean put his hand on her shoulders, gripping them tight as he gently pushed her back to rest her back against the metal.

“Listen, okay, you’re going to be just fine with them. I’ll see you in a day.” He cradled her face between his big palms. Everyone from the outside would think that he’s checking if one of his private was doing alright.

“Yeah, yeah.” She answered, a little annoyed.

“You probably have a concussion. They need to keep an eye on you.” He said and she just stared at him. Dean went on. “And when I see you again, we need to talk.” Dean looked into her eyes and then he saw her grinning at him.

“Well, sir, do we call it talking now?” The little misunderstanding they had before almost forgotten.

“No, I need to really talk to you.” Damn it, he adjusted his collar to hide the rising heat up his neck. She managed to make him blush in the midst of war.

“Can’t wait.”

“Behave, alright.” He ran his thumb along her jaw. It came out a little sweeter than he intended. The sight of her unfocused pupils made his stomach churn, and really put a damper in his normal sarcastic antics. “Don’t get kicked out of the truck bed for being a pain in everyone’s asses.”

She smiled, flashing her teeth as she parted her lips and damn he would’ve loved to kiss her right then. “And you don’t get dead.”

“Promise.” He nodded, squeezing her shoulder gently before he returned to his platoon. They were going to march toward the next rendezvous point.

“Lieutenant?”

Dean turned around to see her smile at him.

“Thanks.”

He wanted to tell her that it was his duty. Not only as her superior, but also because she managed to capture his heart in such a short period of time. He wanted to tell her what he really felt, but they were there in the open with more than a thousand eyes on them and instead of telling her all this, he nodded, smirking softly before he went.

Dean didn’t lie when he said that he needed to talk to her. It’s just… he didn’t know how to do it yet. He didn’t know how to tell her that he’d like to send her home, but he knew that she would have none of that. So the only logical thing would be to at least transfer her to another platoon. Gabe or Baltazar could use a marksman. They were good leaders, although Balthazar could be a complete asshole.

He knew that he can’t have her around him. He would worry too much and he would neglect his job because, even if Dean didn’t want to say it out loud, when push comes to shove, he would be choosing Bambi over all the other men in his platoon, over Castiel, and over the winning of the war. He can’t let that happen. Not yet. They needed the wins. They needed to keep on fighting. He was sure that he’d find the words, he still had time until he would see her again. Only, time was of running out because every day could be his last and he knew that, too.

Jamie watched as the troops moved out. She wanted to go with them. Damn her moment of weakness that sent her there. She hated everything about the truck. Hated, that she was sitting around, unable to move or do anything against it. She lied down then, closing her eyes and hummed Edith Piaf.

Des fois, je rêve que je suis dans tes bras. Et qu'à l'oreille tu me parles tout bas. Tu dis des choses qui font fermer les yeux. Et moi je trouve ça merveilleux. “Sometimes I dream that I am in you arms and you speak softly in my ears. You say things that make me close my eyes and I find that marvellous.”

It was nightfall when the staff finally cleared the little village, registering POW’s and sending home wounded. Jamie rode with the walking wounded who couldn’t return to their platoons and the staff medics. She listened to them telling jokes and laughing, but all she wanted was to sleep.

They stopped every other odd couple of miles. It was exhausting to say the least and Jamie thought that if she would walk, she’d be there sooner.

***

August 18th, 1944

The truck rolled in at the rendezvous point where Baker company had already set up a harbor area. She noticed men from her platoon on sentry.

“Hey Bambi! Welcome back!” Private Fitzgerald shouted as the truck drove by. “We’ve dug you a hole. Made it all cozy, too!”

Jamie smiled at that.

She got off the truck and there would be a last check before she would be released to her platoon, but already she saw Dean striding along, breaking into a jog as the truck came to a halt. It was dusk and the daylight was almost gone, but Dean’s bowed legs were giving him away and they were hard to miss. He stopped short before he would reach her, waiting with his arms crossed over his body as the medical staff looked into her mouth and shone into her eyes with the flashlight. “Good to go, private. I bet your platoon leader is relieved that he’ll have you back.”

“What do you mean?” She asked curiously, feeling a little paranoid.

The doc, patted her shoulders. “Ya know, we’re losing too many of you. So every wounded who can go back is kind of a win for us.”

Jamie blushed. “Oh,”

“Take care, private.” He already turned around, attending to the next injured who is going to be released.

She saw Dean, shifting his weight from one foot to another. His helmet was a little askew and the straps hung down loosely down the sides of his face.

“Sir,” Jamie tried to stand at attention when she reached Dean, but there was a dull pain when she tried to stand up straight and she made a face.

“You alright?” Dean asked his hands holding onto her arm.

“Yes, sir.”

He smirked then, “Come on. The others are already waiting.” Then he ushered her away walking slowly back with her to where their platoon were staying. They were scattered around a campfire. Some were on sentry, some already asleep in their foxholes and the ones who were too lazy to dig one were leaning against each other, sleeping with their musette bags as pillows. Maybe it was weird, but Jamie really missed them. They were her brothers in arms. When it comes to war, soldiers needed people who they could trust next to them and she’d trust each and everyone of them.

They were a couple days away from Brest. The men were tired from the march, but nonetheless moral’s still high and maybe it was because she came back and they didn’t lose one more. She sometimes didn’t know how she deserved all of that. She could have had it much worse, but she didn’t think that she could have had it any better than the crazy bunch of 1st platoon of Baker company.

“Bambi,” Tran announced, holding out a metal mug of coffee for her. “Heard you were coming back. Dug you a hole,” He pointed his chin towards the hole far back and smiled ever so proudly. They knew that she liked to stay a little away from the others and they respected that.

“Made it extra comfy, too.” Harvelle chimed in. “Go, look.”

She smiled at them and walked over to her foxhole, Dean watched her from afar, he’d probably already seen it.

It was beginning to get dark, but she could see what was in there. They laid out the ground with leaves as to make it more comfortable for her back and honestly, she had tears in her eyes and she tried to bite them back.

“You like it?” Trenton was all smiles when he shouted to her, and she signaled them her joy with her thumbs up.

Jamie wanted to climb down and rest, but she didn’t know if she was allowed to. She looked over to where Dean was standing, silently asking him with her eyes if it was ok for her to rest and only went down when he nodded his approval. She probably wouldn’t be on sentry that night and reveille was going to be at some Oh-ridiculous-hours so she was mentally preparing herself to walk South toward Brest with the rest of the company.

***

Jamie woke up to the sound of rustling leaves as Dean knelt on the ground in her foxhole. The weird, but familiar smell of warmed up ratio meat filled the air and she didn’t even know that she was hungry until her stomach started to growl when she inhaled the scent.

“You’ve got to eat.” Dean said, holding out the food for her to take.

She sat up and looked back to her haversack that she used as a pillow and realized that the portion Dean was holding up was not her food. “Dean, no. I have my own.”

He shrugged before he sat next to her, his back leaning against the cold wall of the hole. “It’s alright. I wasn’t hungry and still have plenty.”

She didn’t want to ask him if he didn’t eat because he was worried if she would make it here, but she didn’t dare to ask because she feared the answer. Instead she whispered out a thank you as he sat there. Dean propped a flashlight up at the corner of the hole, lighting up the inside. Jamie was thankful for that. At least it wouldn’t be all awkward and filled with only the noise of her eating.

She ate fast, wolfing down the warm food in record time and maybe Dean was grinning as he watched her, but she didn’t care. Jamie finished and set the ratio pack down, returning the fork back to Dean and he put it into a pocket of his jacket.

“Jamie,”

“Huh?”

“Take off your jacket and turn around.” It didn’t sound like a question. Not even a command. Dean’s voice was barely a whisper. It was low and it had a vibration to it that shook her to the bones.

She nodded, unzipping her jacket and took it off with Dean’s help. She turned around and Dean lift her shirt and undershirt up, revealing black and blue bruises along her back and even though his fingertips were soft on her skin, it still made her flinch a little.

Jamie could hear Dean clearing his throat and then he turned off the flashlight and let go off her shirt. She could hear him breathe, could hear him sniffing and it took some time for her to adjust her eyes to her surroundings.

“Dean,” she reached out towards him and noticed that he rubbed at his face with his hand. “It’s alright.” She assured him. “I’m much better already, it doesn’t hurt that much anymore. Only a bit sore.”

“Shit…” Dean sniffed again, clearing his throat and then he finally took her hand. He kissed the inside of her palm before he laid it on his cheek. She could feel the dampness of his scruff.

“Hey, it’s not your fault. It was mine. I didn’t see it. I didn’t pay enough attention.” She got between his legs, moving slowly and he let her. She shifted, until she held his head in both her hand and made him look at her. “Not your fault, ok?”

He nodded, “Yeah, yeah.”

She leaned forward, capturing his lips with hers and he put his arms around her gently. Touching her like she was delicate as he open up his mouth for her to lick into. She lost herself in his taste, drinking from him like he was the one keeping her alive, and maybe he was. He pulled her closer and she straddled his lap, she could feel his cock hardening in his combats and she chuckled into the kiss.

“Jamie,” He broke the kiss, both of them were panting hard and he rested his forehead on hers.

“What?” She whispered against his lips. “You wanna break up with me because we had a little misunderstanding?” She really liked to rile him up.

There were wrinkles on his forehead when he frowned at her. “That wasn’t a misunderstanding.” He kisses her nose then. “If anything, you’re a fucking pain in my ass.”

“Do you wanna say that you like pain in your ass, sir? Because you know –”

“Bambi,” Dean interrupted her by pulling her into another kiss to shut her up. “I told you I want to talk to you.” He broke the kiss and leaned back a little, placing his hand on her waist and his fingers sneaked up her undershirt. His thumbs circling on her bare skin.

“Alright, shoot.” She grinned. “Wait, no. I mean, don’t. Ugh..” That made him laugh, his body shook under her.

“I take it you would be mad if I sent you home,” He said carefully and saw that she was already gasping for air and wanted to protest. “Keep listening…” He raised an eyebrow and went on. “I still want you to change platoons. If that’s okay with you.” He was completely still and Jamie knew that it wasn’t something he wanted to do. It was something he had to do. He was biting his lip anxiously waiting to hear her answer. If there was light in the damn foxhole, she probably could even see him squint his eyes as if he was afraid to hear what she had to answer him.

“Alright.” She shrugged. “Just… not Balthazar.”

“Why not?”

“He’s an asshole. I’d rather be with Gabriel.”

“You’re not wrong. But Balth’s a good guy. He just never knows when to shut up. And why Gabe?”

“He’s handsome.” She chuckled.

“Hey!” His voice was low as he tried to keep it down.

“Well, maybe not as handsome as you. You Lieutenant, are a fucking dreamboat.” She shrugged with a grin. He raised an eyebrow at her, but he didn’t protest.

“Alright, deal.” He was breathing with relief. “But that’s all? You don’t even wanna know why?”

“I know why.”

“You know?”

“Dean, I might be a girl, but I’m not dumb.”

“That’s not how I meant it and you know it.” He muttered.

She chuckled at that. “I know and honestly, I don’t want to make this harder for you.” She whispered softly and she looked down. “When will I be reassigned?”

“After we capture Brest. Well, I hope that we do. I talked it through with Novak. Actually he was the one asking because we’re still a couple of replacements short.”

“That’s fair.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I mean, can’t help it that you can’t concentrate when you see a cute private walking around…” She giggled lightly and Dean threw his head back, laughing as quietly as he could. “How long until reveille?” She asked him, pecking his nose and he grabbed her tight, but still as gently as possible while he pressed his lips on hers.

“About an hour.” Dean whispered into her mouth and his breathing hitched as she ground her hips on his cock, making it harden more and more in his combats.

She kissed herself stupid on him and she loved how he tasted. Stale coffee and tobacco with a hint of camouflage cream. Her hands worked on his belt as he now held her head between his palms, his thumbs grazing her cheeks. “Bambi, you’re still weak. We shouldn’t.”

“I am but I wanna make you feel good, and I need to thank you for saving my life.” She sucked his tongue into her mouth as her hand wedged itself past his underwear and she took out his, by now, hard and leaking cock, her cold hand fisting around it, making him hitch his breathe as he let out a fuck, cold. And she giggled at that, making him kiss her harder.

“Should save your life more often,” He smiled against her slick mouth before he nibbled at her bottom lip. “If the reward is that good.”

“Now, don’t get over your head, Lieutenant.” She smirked, her hand squeezed around the head of his cock and draining it from pre cum. A little too harsh and Dean’s breath hitched in his throat.

She fisted his cock in her hand now, her thumb brushing against the sensitive head, thumbing over his slit and spreading pre cum around it as Dean groaned into her mouth. Her fingers swiftly work his lengths, using the right amount of pressure on him as he buckled his hips into her fist.

Jamie looked down, and spit on his dickhead before she massaged her spit along his lengths. They both found a rhythm pretty quickly, moving in sync in the dark foxhole as he tries not to make a sound that would get one of the man running to see what was going on in the confines of the darkness.

Dean sucked in her bottom lip before letting it go and then he whispered against her mouth “Shit, ah..” and his eyes were squeezed shut and she loved that. Loved seeing him come undone, knowing that she’s the one who could make him feel this way. She captured his mouth, swallowing the groans and whimper that rolled of his tongue, drinking them in like her life depends on it. He was close, she knew.

He threw his head back, exposing his throat and she took advantage of it, licking a wet trail from his jaw down his throat. Her tongue brushed against his adam’s apple, feeling it bob underneath as he gulped for air. Her lips came to a halt at his pulse point. Dean let out a strangled moan and she sucked at the exposed skin, feeling his heart beating underneath her lips. Dean breathing ragged, as her hand squeezed tighter around the head of his cock, milking it, and there was a high pitched moan before she felt him coming in her hand, the sticky mess running along her fingers and Dean’s heart was beating fast under her touch.

He smiled at her as he came back to his senses, still panting hard, as if he just finished a damn suicide run. He held her her face between his palm and kissed her. “You just made a mess.” He mumbled, his lips only brushing against her slightly.

“Well, technically, Lieutenant, you made a mess.” She countered, already getting off him and took a bunch of leaves to throw them at Dean.

While he cleaned himself up, she sucked her fingers into her mouth, tasting Dean and she smiled when she saw him staring at her with his mouth wide agape. “What?”

“Nothing, Ma’am.” He shrugged and chuckled before lowering his gaze to continue cleaning and packing away his cock. She didn’t mind him and continued to lick her fingers clean. She can’t lie, she really liked the taste of him.

Dean finished cleaning up and tucked his dick back into his pants before he spread out his arms beckoning her over. “Come here.”

And that, she did, fitting herself between his thighs as if the space was entirely made for her. She put her jacket back on and leaned her sore back against his chest. Even through the thickness of both their combat jacket, she could feel his lean body. Dean wrapped his arms around her before he buried his face in her neck, breathing in her scent of probably musk and sweat but he didn’t complain.

“Do you,” he started to say but then he stopped. “Never mind, it’s not important.” His breathing was heavy next to her ear.

“Come on, say it.” She urged him on. She felt that there was nothing not worth sharing between them anymore. She felt as if she was going to lose the fight and she might as well enjoy the little time she has left.

“I mean,” Dean started to speak again, murmuring softly next to her ear. “Do you think, if we have met under other circumstances. There’d be a chance this could last?”

Her heart was beating, and she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. She didn’t know the answer if she’s being honest.

“You know,” He went on, not bothering that she didn’t answer his question. “Sometimes, I’d like to think that when this is all over… I mean,” He exhaled and inhaled audibly, as if he was doing it for encouragement. “If you’re in, I’d like to start over. Meeting again. Start all over with no war between us. You know, without people shooting at us all the fucking time.”

“Would you like to?” Finally she was able to say something. With me? She wanted to add but didn’t.

“Not gonna lie. If we’ll get out of here alive,” He pecked the crown of her head. “And you’re in, I’d love to, yes.”

“Then we can.” She smiled weakly, tilting her head back and he returned her smile before placing a kiss on her forehead.

She turned to the side a little and made herself more comfortable in his arms. “How’s Sam? Do you miss him?” It might not have been the right moment to ask this, but Jamie had the urge to know more about Sam. Know more about Dean.

“From the last letter he sent me, he’s fine. I hope he still is.” He chuckled, trying to joke, but she knew that he was worried. “Before I left for Basic, Sam had to promise me that he would look after the house and keep Dad out of trouble - and fucking stay in school.” Dean went on without being asked, and she knew that he was trying to open himself up to her. “He failed. Dad left after they had an argument. Which also meant that every source of income was cut off. Sam waited for almost six months, living on bare minimum, and I sent him all my wages. The pay was only enough to keep the house and he lived off his girlfriend’s parents. So that little shithead thought that he was not going to sit around and wait no more - mind you he had a highschool sweetheart who was worth staying back for - but since there’s no money coming in, he had to do something and so he followed me into the army. See where that got him.” He paused, probably thinking back to the day he learned that Sam had enlisted. “He could be glad that I wasn’t home to rip him a new one. Only had to promise me that he wouldn’t join the paratroopers.”

“Why not?” She heard that the paratroopers got a better pay and that’s why Jim signed up for it. To be able to afford their living cost.

“It’s only $50 a month more. Yeah, yeah, I know $50 is still fucking a lot to have, but it’s not worth jumping out of a plane for. Besides, I got promoted the week before he enlisted and my wages increased too. He didn’t have to kill himself by jumping out of a freaking airplane.” Dean picked at her hair, putting it aside a little so it wouldn’t prick his face before he buried it back into her neck.

“You’re not fond of airplanes, I take it?” She couldn’t help but grin.

“Hate ‘em. I mean, being in a tight space in the air? No thanks. Airplanes can crash.”

“Of course.”

“Shut up.”

“I get him.” She murmured and then Dean probably realized that it was also the same story as hers. “You know, Sam. I get him. I wouldn’t want to wait, too.”

“Yeah, I’d love the two of you to meet one day. You’ll get along just fine. You’d both be teaming up on me, I can already picture it.” He was laughing but then he stopped because he might have said too much. They’d never talked about the future. She didn’t even know if there was a future. For now, there was the present but yes, she liked the sound and the taste of a future.

“I’d love to meet Sam.” She smiled and she felt Dean tightening his arms around her.

“You know,” His voice was almost a whisper but she could feel the bass of it vibrating through two sets of combat jackets. “I’ve never thought about what would happen after. You know, I…uh.. I always thought that I’m going to do what I’m trained to do. Get my job done and then, if I’m lucky, and I won’t get dead, I’d get to go back home. Preferably together with Sam. We’d go back to our house. I will go back and work in the garage where I used to. I’ll make him go back to school and become a, hopefully, successful lawyer who will be able to bail my sorry ass out of jail.” He chuckled a little.

“We could go on and live our lives like we did before the war.” Dean stalled then, as if he only realizes again that he’s in the midst of a goddamn war. “He would maybe marry Jessica and we would all live together under the same roof. You know, the happy bunch.” The image of it made Dean smile into the back of her head.

“We would be happy because we would have each other. You’ve got to know, I’ve never had anyone else but Sam.” He exhaled hotly against her. “Since I was little and our mom died, it was only Sam and me because Dad was never around, always found excuses not to come home and be reminded of his wife’s death.”

Her eyes were welling up. It sounded so much like her family only that her father found a way out and knew that his children were better off without him.

“Don’t get me wrong, he did come home occasionally, but probably only to check if we were still alive. I took care of Sam. I taught him all the things that he needed to know. I cooked him a meal so that he would at least have something warm in his belly, even if it meant that I would go hungry. Dad would leave money before he would disappear again, so that we could at least buy essential things, but the money was never enough. Sam grew like a weed and he always needed new shoes, new clothes, textbooks, you name it. I dropped out of school because I needed a job to help us get by. Thankfully our neighbor had a garage, and I’m pretty good at fixing things. Sammy. Sam, I mean, because he doesn’t like me calling him Sammy, he’s the most important person in my life. There’s nothing I would put in front of him.”

Jamie didn’t blame him one bit. She knew that feeling. Her brothers were all she had, too.

Dean exhaled loudly and cleared his throat, “But now,” He placed his mouth on her head, murmuring the rest, as if he was ashamed to say it out loud. Or maybe he was afraid that if he said it loud, it wouldn’t come true. “Now? I think that I still wanna go home. Still preferably together with Sam, but also with you. It might sound crazy, and I don’t even know if I’m allowed to say it or how you would take it, but I want you there. With me. With us.”

After a while Dean chuckled lightly. “You know, Sam once asked me how many I need to save, and I answered with all of them.” He cleared his throat after a pause. “But now… I know that I can’t save them all. It’s impossible. Doesn’t matter how hard I try, I can’t save them all. But I wanna save you.”

Dean kissed the top of her head, his lips lingered on her short hair. She felt something wet dripping on her head, but she didn’t move, didn’t turn around, didn’t say anything. Instead, she put her hands on his arms, urging him to hug her tighter and then he buried his head back in the crook of her neck.. “Fuck, Bambi…”

CHAPTER 10

#dear dean #dean winchester #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester x ofc #dean x ofc #dean x oc #dean winchester x oc #nathalie writes

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daedriclorde · 5 years

Text

Krent Mon Do Akatosh

Humble Beginnings; A series of one-shots

read it on AO3

Competition

Aerisif slammed down her tankard on the bar of the Ragged Flagon. The underground tavern echoed with voices regaling tales of thievery and crime. The smith that had moved in was clanging away at some piece of metal. Tonilia scoffed at an offer. Her mead was cold, her feet were warm, and her pack full of stolen things. Life was good.

“Another?” Vekel asked, nodding at Aerisif’s empty tankard.

She slid the mug toward him, with a do you even need to ask expression on her face. He chuckled and began refilling the tankard.

“Ah, back from a job, eh?” Delvin slid onto the barstool next to Aerisif.

She leaned forward. “Check it out. Hit ‘em hard, just like you asked.” Aerisif leaned down to the pack at her side and removed an assortment of items: an ornately decorated potion bottle, two silver necklaces with an emerald and sapphire embedded in them respectively, and a golden ring that glowed with an enchantment.

Delvin inspected each one with scrutiny. “My, my, you have out done yourself again, Aer,” He nodded to a thief at a nearby table, who hurriedly gathered them up and went to catalog them. “And here’s your cut.” Delvin handed Aerisif a heavy leather pouch.

Her eyes glinted greedily. “My favorite part!” She smiled, quickly tucked away the coin and took a swig from her newly refilled tankard of mead. Aerisif let her eyes close for a moment, savoring the sweet taste of the Black-Briar Mead that was always on tap.

“Risky business there lass, a thief with her eyes closed.” Brynjolf smirked at her as he took the seat on the other side of Delvin.

Aerisif rolled her eyes pointedly while Delvin was looking, but once he turned to look at Brynjolf, she let her eyes twinkle and smirked back.

“Strong words from a man who spends most of his time bent over a table,” she jabbed back, cocking her head to one side. “Or is that just what’s comfortable for you now? I’m sure with all the bending over you do for Mercer—“

“I’d end that sentence right there, lass,” Brynjolf said over Devlin’s guffaws. A couple other nearby thieves snickered, and Vekel was chuckling as well. Brynjolf snuck a wink at Aerisif.

She felt a chill run through her body, but concealed it. Knowing she had his attention, she took another drink from her tankard, letting her eyes roll back as she savored the flavor. She thought she caught Brynjolf bite his lip a little as she opened her eyes and put the mug back down.

“Say what you will about the Black-Briars, but that clan knows how to make some damned good mead.”

“And you best watch what you say about the Black-Briars,” Delvin warned. “Word has it Maven’s been speakin’ with Mercer. And that’s never good.” He took a long swing from his own mead.

The three thieves all grimaced slightly and drank again. Maven was the patroness of the Guild, and if she was unhappy, everyone was unhappy.

“Did I see you bring back some darling little trinkets for Delvin?” Brynjolf asked, changing the subject.

“Darling little trinkets?? DARLING LITTLE TRINKETS? I pulled a solid bedlam job, that’s what I did!” Aerisif pretended to be indignant.

“Oh, and I’m sure you did it very well, lass,” Brynjolf said patronizingly, “Good on you. We need someone to pull the little jobs while us real thieves commit true acts of larceny.” He smirked again. His emerald eyes sparkled.

“Little jobs? Delvin, please tell Brynjolf the exact value of that haul.” Aerisif pulled herself up haughtily.

“Well, I don’ know if I know the exact value—“ Delvin began.

“Fuck off with that nonsense. You see an item, you know its worth in every currency man or mer exchanges.” Aerisif cut in.

Delvin raised his hands defensively. “Fine, fine. That one was…let’s see…carry the one, add three…” he pretended to need his fingers to solve the equation.

“Today, Delvin.”

“Twenty two and forty three septims.”

Aerisif turned to Brynjolf. “Did you get that, lad, or can you count that high?” She grinned, mocking.

Brynjolf chuckled. “Cute, lass, real cute. I remember when I would have counted that as an accomplishment myself, waaay back in my days as a footpad.” He crossed his arms. “Face it lass, I’m the best thief around here.”

“Dare you to say that to Mercer.”

“I said I’m the best thief, not the dumbest thief.”

“Oh, come off it you two. Actin’ like damn children.” Delvin shook his head, smiling and faking disappointment. “There’s no need for this.”

Aerisif sat straight up. “You’re right. There is no need. We can settle it, once and for all.”

Brynjolf matched her devilish gaze. “You’re on. What do you have in mind?”

“A competition. Delvin can moderate.”

Delvin froze, his tankard to his lips. “Delvin can what now?” he said, his voicing echoing off the tankard.

Aerisif leaned forward. “Three days. Three challenges. The winner brings back the highest valued item. Riften only. Jail time is instant disqualification.” She looked between Delvin and Brynjolf. “Deal?”

“Deal.” Brynjolf reached his hand out across Delvin, and Aerisif shook it. “Delvin, what are our marks?”

Delvin sighed. “You two,” he shook his head. “Fine. Each challenge, bring back the highest valued item you can get your hands on, any item. No gold, items only. One at a time, can’t hit the same mark twice. That’s for the first two.”

Aerisif eagerly jumped in. “And for the third?”

“Once you’ve both brought back your first two items, I’ll assign a high level target. One item. Winner is the first one that brings it back to me.”

“And what’s the winner get?” Brynjolf crossed his arms. “What are the stakes?”

“Braggin’ rights.”

“Delvin,” Both Aerisif and Brynjolf warned.

“Fine. Winner gets all the gold the items are valued at. Fair?”

Aerisif nodded. “Fair.”

Brynjolf winked at her. “Fair.” And with that, he launched himself from his stool and took off into the Cistern.

Aerisif lunged after him, grabbing her pack as she raced off. “You ass!”

***

It was perfect night for thieving, the new moon having been only a few days past. Clouds covered the sliver of moon, giving Aerisif ample shadow to slip through.

The lock on Aerin’s door picked easy. Aerisif’s leather boots made no sound on the wooden floors. She crept towards the stairs. Mjioll and Aerin kept their valuables upstairs in their bedroom with them. They thought it kept them safer.

Doesn’t make a damn difference to us, Mjioll. We’ll get ‘em anyways.

Aerisif had just put her foot on the first stair when

THONK.

Aerisif froze.

THONK CLINK.

The sound—a rock on a window pane?—came from upstairs. Mjioll and Aerin leapt out of their beds and were shouting. They started to thunder down the stairs.

Aerisif tore out of there like her ass was on fire.

Once outside and in the safety of a shadow, she saw she wasn’t alone.

Brynjolf was crouched next to her, practically in tears holding back laughter, a rock in his hand and several more piled at his feet.

“You ASS!” Aerisif smacked him on the head and took off running down the street.

Brynjolf won the first round; he came back with a golden necklace, and Aerisif returned with a finely crafted sword. Not finely crafted enough.

***

Aerisif was drinking up the first shadows of the evening, leaning up against the Bee and Barb, listening to the shoppers trade gossip. She was getting bored; nothing newer than Bolli still cheating on his wife. She was about to leave when she heard a new voice. Lifting her eyes to its source, she wasn’t too surprised by what she saw.

A broad man in shining armor sauntered through the market. He was followed by another man, also fully clad in armor, but of a lesser quality. This second man wore a shield, with the Windhelm bear and chevron inked on its face.

A thane and his housecarl, mused Aerisif. Bless the fools for being so easily identifiable.

The thane was browsing Modesi’s wares. His housecarl was always nearby, like a dog. Poor thing, Aerisif thought in disgust. To be pining so hard for attention, to be so close to power, and yet have none. Aerisif frowned. That thought made her think unkindly on her position in the Guild, so she shook that thought out of her head. Just in time to see the thane pick up a second shadow.

Brynjolf was a good thief, but brash. He kept his distance from the thane, and never took his eyes off the thane and his house-dog, but he was being reckless with no one to watch his back. Aerisif smirked as an idea came to her. She circled the market, watching Brynjolf watch his mark.

Brynjolf cut the thane’s purse swiftly and slunk away. He quickly sorted the contents; he sifted the coins away and grinned ear to ear at the one, two, THREE gold diamond rings in his palm. Aerisif watched closely as he tucked those in his pocket.

Your POCKET, Bryn?? Aerisif felt her heart quicken. Too easy. You cocky bastard.

Brynjolf never saw his shadow, never felt the hand in his pocket. It wasn’t until he returned to Delvin and realized with a drop of his jaw that he was empty handed and Aerisif was reaping the rewards of his efforts. The rewards of three gold diamond rings.

Aerisif won that round.

***

Brynjolf left Delvin’s issuing of the third and final challenge, his mind working out how to pull off the heist. Delvin had declared that the thief that could bring him the ledger that Anuriel kept, the Steward to the Jarl, would be the winner.

Getting into Mistveil Keep was no easy task. Stealing from it was even harder. Brynjolf walked aimlessly through the cistern, eyes glazed slightly as his mind worked through the plan.

An hour or so later, he had figured it out. There was no way he could just walk into the Keep and into the Steward’s quarters, the guards would stop him. But he knew of a back way, a series of tunnels that ought to put him in the hallway outside.

After dark, Brynjolf crawled though the stone tunnels under the city. Dressed in Guild leathers, he was nearly invisible in the shadows. He made no sound as he lifted the trapdoor outside the steward’s quarters. Opening it an inch, he watched as a guard turned the corner and out of sight.

Aerisif is going to be so mad when I win this, he thought with a smirk. Brynjolf knew he wouldn’t have much time before the guard would come back on her rounds. He slid silently into the steward’s quarters.

Anuriel was sleeping soundly, lying still and breathing steadily. Brynjolf crept over to the table by the bed. A floorboard creaked.

Brynjolf froze. The sound seemed to echo in the night.

But no movement came from the bed where the steward slept, and no commotion came from the hallway outside. He held his breath and took another step.

Silence.

Releasing his breath, Brynjolf took the final few steps to the bedside table. He lifted the leather bound book from its resting place and quickly turned back to the door, avoiding the noisy floorboard this time. Pausing at the door, he listened for the sound of the guard’s steps. The heavy clunk of metal boots grew louder, stopped for a moment, and then diminished as the guard continued her rounds.

Brynjolf grabbed his chance. He slipped back into the hall and through the trapdoor in the floor. Safe once again in the Ratway, Brynjolf ran through the tunnels and burst into the Cistern.

“Delvin, we can put this little competition to an end. I’ve got the book.” He slammed the book onto the table in front of Delvin with a flourish. It was then he noticed Aerisif sitting next to him, smirking silently.

“Ah. Well. Um. This is awkward.” Delvin looked down into his cup. “Actually, mate, Aerisif here beat you to it.”

Brynjolf crossed his arms confidently. “Bah. I pulled this out of Anuriel’s room just moments ago, this is the book!”

“Open it.” Both men turned to Aerisif, who was smirking even harder if it was possible. She held an identical leather bound book firmly in her hands.

“Fine then, see what’s inside.” Brynjolf ordered. Delvin raised his eyebrows and did as Brynjolf asked, opening the cover of the book the redheaded thief had just presented him.

Inside, the most of the pages were blank, until the centerfold. There, in big letters was scrawled, “Aerisif is the best thief” and “Brynjolf is a fool”, and what appeared to be a most unkind cartoon of Mercer and Brynjolf, with the latter in a rather compromising position.

“Open yours!” Brynjolf demanded, red faced.

Aerisif obeyed. The book she held had neat lines of the daily meetings and ongoings of the Jarl, the accounts of shipments and inventories kept precisely, and details of the Jarl’s correspondence with other Jarls and traders.

Brynjolf cursed and stormed away. Aerisif smiled wider.

“I guess not everyone is cut out to be the best,” Aerisif gloated as she kicked her feet up onto the table and took a long swig of her mead.

#skyrim fanfic #KMDA #OC: aerisif/kjolti #thieves guild #f!dragonborn x brynjolf

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born-in-the-wrong-multiverse · 5 years

Text

The Anomaly

So this is the first one shot I have written in…probably forever. And more importantly, the first piece I’ve actually finished in forever. Thank you greatly to @sherrybaby14 for setting the writing challenge; it was exactly what I needed to give myself a kick up the butt and get back to doing something I love.

As a massive fan of the hugely underrated Mr Clint Barton, this is a little something for him. No warnings, just fluff. Mention of pregnancy and a touch of violence but nothing OTT. A drastic change of pace from the smut I usually write haha! Hope you all enjoy; I’d love to flesh this out more one day, but for now, I am so excited to finally have something on paper!

The plan was pretty straightforward. Perhaps a little too straightforward. Which is why Clint seemed so reluctant to go ahead with it. “You know what you’re asking me to do here, right?” Cradling his cheek in your hand gently, brushing the pad of your thumb against the prickly scruff on his top lip, you nodded, trying to soothe the waves of anxiety radiating from his entire body. “I’m asking you to trust me,” you placated. “I can do this. And I have you, and the rest of the team, to back me up and keep me safe. Nothing is going to happen to me.” Closing his eyes, Clint rested his calloused hand over yours, the internal war between his need to protect you, and his desire to respect your assertion that you could handle yourself playing out on his face as he searched for the strength to say what you needed to hear and not what he wanted to say. After the longest of moments, he finally nodded. “Just remember later that I said this was a bad idea if things do go a bit pear-shaped,” he chuckled, taking your hand and grazed his lips against your knuckles before turning to former AIM agent turned SHIELD insider, pointing a finger at him threateningly. “Anything happens to her, I’m gunning for you.”

It was a simple plan. Months of planning and careful negotiations had convinced Morgan to swap sides and act as an insider to help infiltrate a high security AIM facility that was responsible for illicit experimentation on humans. He’d never wanted to be a part of it in the first place, so it wasn’t all that difficult to talk him around to joining the cause. Now, the team was finally ready to put their play into action, and you were a key component of the plan’s success. As a renowned biochemist with a groundbreaking understanding of neurotoxins and their practical applications, you were wanted property. AIM wanted you. Even if they knew you would never willingly help them. And so the plan was pretty basic; Morgan would walk right in through the front doors with you bound and gagged like a trussed pig ready for slaughter. A sacrificial offering to guarantee any guards at the door would allow you entry. Ergo, Clint wasn’t exactly on board with the whole idea. "She’s in good hands, Barton, i promise,“ Morgan assured him, even as he bound your wrists together with a length of rope. He secured it tightly but, crucially, he tied your hands in front of you rather than behind; everyone on the team could only pray that the AIM agents at the facility wouldn’t clock on to how odd this was until it was too late for them to do anything about it. With a grunt, Clint watched, arms folded over his chest, as Morgan took the rag he would use as a gag and held it aloft, waiting for you to give him permission to press it to your mouth where he can tie it in place. Holding your bound hands up, gesturing with a finger for Morgan to give you just a moment longer first, you turned to Clint and held his gaze firmly. "Remember, wait for my signal, okay?” Sighing, Clint nodded, resigning himself to the inevitability that you weren’t going to relinquish your stubborn determination to see this through, no matter the risk to yourself. “As long as you remember to get the hell outta there the moment it starts looking too dicey, ya hear me?” You nodded, before looking at Morgan and signaled that you were ready for the gag. A quiet mousey voice inside was squeaking at you that this was a bad idea, that it wasn’t too late yet to throw this whole thing in reverse and forget you ever suggested it. But you were committed now.

What could possibly go wrong? You had the whole team of Avengers poised to leap into action the moment you gave the signal. Morgan marched you through the doors of AIM’s front doors, hands bound in front of you and voice caged behind the gag. You had no choice but to trust that the man who was essentially still a stranger to you wasn’t about to double-cross you. But, if he’d done enough to earn Stark’s and Rogers’ trust, then that was good enough for you, too. You counted sixteen agents storming the foyer the moment you entered the building. Feigning resistance, you tugged on the ropes by which Morgan hauled you, stumbling on the slick ceramic tiles as a grunt of faux terror hurled itself at your gag. “Thought I’d come bearing a gift,” Morgan proclaimed to his small audience, yanking on the rope, forcing you to stagger forward as though presenting his prey to the pride. “Where’s the boss?” “Nowhere you need to know,” one of the agents hissed, training his crosshairs on the tiny crease between your eyes. “You think you can just go missing for weeks without reporting in, and waltz on in here like it’s no big deal?” “Well, yeah,” Morgan rolled his eyes, “I have something the boss wants. I’m sure she’ll understand, I had to go pretty deep undercover to earn this bitch’s trust enough to get her alone long enough to knock her out and haul her ass here. So, if you don’t mind, get…the…boss.” From somewhere behind the crowd of AIM personnel, a clipped voice rang out, accompanied by the clicking of heels against tile flooring. “No need to raise your voice, Morgan. I’m here. And I’m going to ask you to explain what happened later. Right now, all I’m interested in is meeting my prize.” Up in his nest, hidden amongst the rafters after gaining access through the ventilation ducts, Clint’s jaw clenched as his fingers twitched around his bow. Nothing about this plan felt right to him. Trusting your life in the hands of a stranger was far from his idea of a solid strategy, but he’d been outnumbered during the briefing with the rest of the team; more to the point, he’d been strong armed by your stubbornness, your determination to play your part in the plan. “You’ll be the death of me, Y/N,” he muttered to himself, watching the scene play out below, arrow notched and bowstring drawn, staring down the length of the arrow as he trained its tip on the woman who was currently circling the woman he loves like a lazy shark toying with its prey. He watched. Waited. Adjusted his aim in anticipation of the signal you would give. He listened, his aids straining to hear what was being said as the stern looking woman spoke to you in hushed tones. He cursed himself again for agreeing with this stupid plan. And then he tensed, as the woman turned her back on you. Your bound fists flew up in the air. Without even a heartbeat’s pause, Clint let his arrow fly, piercing through the ropes that bound your wrists as all hell broke loose. His teammates burst into the room from all angles, but Clint’s sight remained locked on you as he dropped from the rafters and hurled himself into the fray.

It was far from an elaborate plan. But one thing was had been certain in Clint’s mind, and that was his singular mission to keep you safe. As bullets pierced the air all around you, Clint battled the melee in his effort to reach your side. In such close quarters, he relied on his bow as a blunt instrument, sweeping it beneath his opponents’ feet to compromise their footing, before slamming the butt of the bow into their temple, knocking them out and removing them from contention. His eyes scanned the room, finding you in an instant as Morgan covered you. You were armed, as per the plan, with a handgun, firing off one shot after another and fumbling to reload when you emptied the clip. “Y/N! GET DOWN!” Clint hollered across the room, his voice lost amongst the chaos of grunts and curses of exertion. Not hearing the warning, you dodged too late to avoid the AIM agent’s backhand as it swiped you across the face, sending you flying to the floor. There was a bright starburst of pain and dazzling lights, before total black as you slid clumsily to the floor, landing in a heap, vaguely hearing voices that seemed to be drowning in an ocean’s current, before finally slipping into unconsciousness.

Why did any of us agree to this plan, Tony thought. It was too simple. There was no contingency plan for things going wrong. “I’ve got her, Barton,” Stark nodded, shielding your body with his suit as he scooped you into his arms. “I’ll get her to safety and be back to finish this whole mess.” Ignoring Clint’s protests, Tony jetted you back to the safety of the Quinjet, the pointless maelstrom of bullets bouncing off the titanium of his suit, like so many feeble bee stings. Laying you down on a gurney, he sighed. “JARVIS, scan vitals for me.” He waited patiently, praying for Clint’s sake that you would be okay. He’d never seen Barton so happy before, never seen him so alive before. He didn’t want to imagine what would happen if he lost you. “Breathing is stable. Pulse is steady. However, I appear to be detecting an anomaly, sir.” Tony’s ears pricked up, a frown furrowing his brow. “What do you mean, an anomaly?” “Sir, I appear to be detecting a second heartbeat.”

Somehow, the team made a simple plan work. Perhaps not as intended, but it paid off. And now Clint was running to be by your side. As he rounded on the infirmary, he frowned, slowing his step at the sight of Tony sitting by your bedside, deep in conversation with you. There were tears streaming down your cheeks, but you didn’t look upset, just confused, and…happy? Keeping his distance, Clint tried to read your lips, only vaguely registering his own guilt for eavesdropping, but with Tony blocking you, he could only catch a few words. ‘Safe,’ 'alive,’ and 'are you sure’ stood out the strongest. Shaking his head, Clint knocked gently at the door, clearing his throat. “Am I interrupting something?” “Nope,” Tony shook his head, rising to his feet. “Just keeping her company while we waited for you, birdbrain.” Snorting a laugh, Clint muttered a thank you, before he looked back at you, concern crowding his features. “How’s your head? What was Tony saying?” Blinking back the tears, wiping at them furiously with the back of your hand, you shook your head with a laugh. “My head is fine, just a small bump, nothing to worry about.” You patted the patch of bed beside you. “Tony was…he was telling me…” you paused, trying to find the words as you looked up at Clint, searching his azure eyes for the strength you needed to share the news with him, taking a deep breath before you continued, “He was telling me that JARVIS detected a second heartbeat. A baby’s heartbeat.” You paused again, waiting for Clint’s brain to tick over, before adding conclusively, “Our baby.” For the longest moment, Clint just stared, his jaw working uselessly to form words, before he looked down at your still flat stomach, struggling to compute what you’d just said. “You’re…you’re pregnant? With my baby? I mean our baby? I mean…aww man…I’m gonna be a dad?” The look on his face, the joy that reached the creases at the corner of his eyes, was all you needed to break down into sobs of joy as you nodded at him. “You’re going to be the best dad.” Releasing all the air that had gathered in his cheeks, Clint broke into the biggest grin you’d ever seen on his face before, knowing that behind that grin there were doubts, concerns that he would turn out just like his own father, but right now, Clint confident that with you, he could conquer the world and prove that he wasn’t his father. He gathered you in his arms and held you close, pressing his lips to yours firmly, over and over again, your tears mingling with his on your cheeks. “This is the best futzing news I’ve had…ever…” he shook his head, and pressed his lips to your forehead, for the longest beat of time just sitting there in silence with you, wanting to shout the news from the rooftop, but reminding himself that you needed rest. “You need to sleep. You need to rest.” Chuckling softly, you took his hand, and rested it over your stomach. “The only thing keeping me awake right now is you. And I don’t want you to go. So stay here with me, celebrate this with me, I can rest later. Right now, I need to be with the man I love, and the father of my child.” Hanging his head with a laugh, a fat tear sliding down the crook of his nose, Clint nodded as he pressed his lips to yours again, as though never wanting the kiss to end. “I’m gonna hold you to that, that promise to rest later. But right now, staying with you sounds like the best idea ever.”

#clint barton #hawkeye #fanfic #one shot #reader insert #clint x reader #hawkeye x reader

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armoured-iron-geek · 6 years

Text

Tony’s Final Choice: Part 2

Follow up to Tony’s Final Choice

As requested by @pinksaphira11

It was Rocket and Quill who found Tony in the dust on that lonely cluster of leftover planet, broken and bloody and bruised...his heart beating no longer. The Iron Man suitcase armour dropped hopelessly from Quill’s hand, far too late to save and protect it’s creator.

As Quill stepped forward to further assess the body, Rocket raised a shaking paw to the communicative device in his ear that he and Tony had built their quick friendship over creating together. He passed along the grave message to Strange, who then spoke onto his own ear piece.

For the fighters in Wakanda, the planet seemed to stop spinning for a brief moment, a thick tension quickly building then bursting in a wave of shock as Strange’s voice reverberated through their very souls.

“Iron Man is down. Repeat: Iron Man...is down.”

*******************

Thanos had backed down for the time being, biding his time despite having nearly all of the Infinity Stones in his possession. No one was quite sure why he had decided that this break was necessary, but they weren’t going to waste an opportunity to lick their wounds, re-group and, most importantly, lay their loved ones to rest.

In some morbid way, the Avengers could be considered lucky to have only lost a single member of their team while entire families had been ripped apart and entire planets had lost their populations. And in another morbid way, Tony was lucky to remain an individual, to keep his name and not just become a figure in some statistic logged in a government file. He remained Anthony Edward Stark:

Genius. Billionaire. Husband. Philanthropist.Hero. Martyr.

Two weeks after his death, he and his beloved Pepper, who had perished in the act of evacuating Stark Industries during the initial invasion, lay peacefully side-by-side in a closed double-casket made from gold titanium alloy. The funeral itself was worthy of Mr and Mrs. Stark’s status, but there was a simplicity to it’s elegance.

The service was held in Green-Wood Cemetery, among the oak trees and upon freshly mowed green grass. The attendees gathered close to each other, a fairly large group, but restricted to distant family, friends, colleagues and members of the Stark Industries board. Memorials and makeshift candle-light vigils were held in the US and all around the world for the fans and admirers who wanted to say good-bye in their own way. People sang, danced and prayed, some clad in black, others in red and gold.

As both Tony and Pepper were openly atheist, there were no psalms or passages from any religious texts to be read, just stories and memories to be told and cherished. Eventually, it was time to lower the Starks into their final resting place, a melancholy song called River crooning them downwards.

**************

Several miles away, a solemn teen rested against a mountain of pillows in a hospital, limbs in casts, IV’s in place and the steady beeping of a heart monitor for company. His aunt had disappeared to run a few errands, promising to return as soon as possible, but in all honesty, he was glad for the loneliness. No one can pity you if they don’t see you crying.

His sobs weren’t caused by any physical pain. His healing factor had kicked in perfectly and if it weren’t for the fact that his legs had been shattered so badly, he’d already be up and out of there. No, this pain was far worse than any broken bone, stab wound, bullet wound or burn could ever muster. It could only be brought about again by losing the one thing he seemed incapable of holding onto.

Family.

There were many wonderful things Tony Stark had taught Peter Parker. Their original conversations about science, engineering and superhero antics had gradually extended into general life, Tony passing on the wisdom and logic that could only come from a mind like his.

Peter would always remember his favourite conversation the mentor and protege engrossed themselves in one night, digging into greasy pizza in the Compound’s workshop.Tony had been taking Peter through the framework of each of his AI’s and robots, demonstrating how they were entirely different, but still connected through various characteristics. It had sent Peter on a vaguely related train of thought.

“It’s kinda like me and Ned,” Peter had pondered aloud.

Tony had sent him an inquiring look at that statement, giving him a ‘go on’ gesture since his mouth was currently shut together by an excess of cheese.

“It’s just- I mean-Ned and I are so different. We have different ethnic backgrounds, different living situations, we don’t have the same interests in different areas of science, but none of that matters in the end,” Peter clarified.

Tony smiled softly, seemingly happy to divert the original conversation by prodding further. He hastily swallowed his current mouthful, “It’s the few things that you do have in common that counts.”

That was neither a statement nor a question.

Peter nodded, “Yeah, I guess. I’ve known Ned since I was little-”

“You mean more little than you are now?”

“Shut-up, you’re barely taller than me,” Peter lightly huffed, grinning at Tony’s laughter and giving him a playful shove, “Ned’s been my friend since forever and it’s gotten to the point where we do stuff for each other without questioning it. We help each other with homework, build Lego sets, I help him talk his parents into letting us go and do stuff, he helps me with Spider-Man stuff-”

“Right, he’s your guy in the chair. How could I forget? He’s only reminded me three billion times.”

“Hey, he just wants you to recognise him, “ Peter chuckled, “Having Tony Stark’s number in his phone is kinda a big deal for him.”

“I’m sure it is. Doesn’t mean I’m not second guessing whether I should have given it to him in the first place,” Tony teased, readjusting himself in his spot on the couch. He was silent for a few moments before shooting Peter a meaningful look, “Ned’s like a brother to you, isn’t he?”

Taken aback by the sudden mood-shift, Peter shrugged it off before replying, “Yeah...I suppose he is.”

Tony gave another soft smile, a rare occurrence. Quietly, he admitted, “Kinda like me and Rhodey. Couldn’t possibly tell you how many times that poor bastard’s had to haul my sorry ass back to safety. I’m telling you now, Kiddo, the people who are willing to save you from yourself no matter how bad things get- they’re the ones you hold onto. I’ve had to learn that the hard way.”

For a few moments, Tony went silent, a sobered look passing across his features as his eyes suddenly set on the storage cupboard Peter knew held Captain America’s shield. Peter was keen to move the conversation forward, but Tony bet him to it.

“The important thing to remember though,” Tony pressed on, “is to remember to give back. It took me longer than I care to admit to realise that and I nearly lost everyone. Never half-ass family, Peter. I’m sure I don’t actually need to tell you this, but at the end of the day, blood and genetics mean nothing. Especially for people like you and me. Our families consist of those who are just as weird and broken as we are because we need each other.”

Peter couldn’t help but grin at the genius’ honesty. The teen could have sworn, Tony was blushing, clearly not used to being this open in a single conversation. Peter decided to give something back. Like Tony said, you don’t half-ass it.

“You know you’re apart of mine, right?” Peter stated, causing Tony to swivel his entire body towards him in shock, “You came out of nowhere and gave me a chance to pursue something I was starting to think was far bigger than I could handle. Not only that, but you never left. Too many people have....”

Out of all the reactions Peter was expecting to get, a few moments of silence before abruptly being pulled into a tight hug was the best and most welcome of them. Tony never verbally responded, but Peter got the general idea.

“You’re apart of mine too.”

But now that precious part of Peter’s family was gone and just as irretrievable as those who had gone before him. Peter twitched in his bed, groaning and using his one good hand to wipe away the tears. He was bitter that the funeral was happening without him, but simultaneously relieved that he wouldn’t have to bear the memories of it.

A sharp glint of light was caught in his eye as the sun shone through the window. Grunting, he shifted his head to gaze at the ever-present sentry in the corner of the room. The Prime Iron Man armour hadn’t left his side, F.R.I.D.A.Y opting to stick to the final direction given to her by her creator. K.A.R.E.N had engaged her in a heated conversation, even attempting to take over the armour, declaring she was quite capable of caring for her directive, but Tony’s A.I was having none of it. Peter now had two bickering intelligence's at his disposal, much to his chagrin.

Their continuing arguments and constant doting frustrated him, but at least they were a distraction, preventing him from having to deal with his loss for a few moments at a time. He didn’t want to remember the moment of shock and the numbness that followed in the wake of being told his father-figure was dead. He wanted to escape the guilt that left him drowning and kept him awake at night as he tried to stop himself from screaming. He knew that wasn’t want Tony wanted of him, but how could he prevent himself from feeling what was true to his core?

A few weeks later.

Still stiff, but thankfully mobile, Peter sat by Aunt May on a leather couch across from one of the Stark lawyers in Stark Manor. The place was freshly cleaned and returned to it’s former glory, a bit stuffy and cold for Peter’s liking, but that could easily be changed if he wanted it to be so.

After all, the Manor was now his. As was several more properties across the globe, half of Tony’s intellectual properties and a third of Tony’s wealth and controlling shares of Stark Industries. Another third was split between Rhodey and Happy.

The final third of Tony’s wealth and the other half of his intellectual property was being bequeathed to another kid his age, someone Tony had told him about but never had the chance to meet before now. Harley Keener was seated with his mother and sister on the only other leather couch in the room, looking just as melancholy and nervous as Peter felt. That alone was enough to prompt him to approach the other teen once the formalities and paper work had been dealt with.

The two Stark heirs accompanied each other to the Manor’s pool area, settling down on old deck chairs, content to be next to each other in the silence for a while, just enjoying the cool breeze grazing their faces. Peter was happy to lay there for longer, but eventually Harley got curious and turned towards him, tilting his head.

“So you’re Spider-Man, huh?”

Harley gave a weak chuckle at Peter’s jerk reaction, giving himself away before he could even try to deny it.

“Don’t worry, Tony never blabbed. He would never do that to you. I kinda hacked into F.R.I.D.A.Y and found your file. Tony was both pissed and impressed by that...”

Despite himself, Peter laughed, hardly caring after several weeks of emotional turmoil,”Just don’t go spreading it around, yeah? Once we both turn 18, we’ll be sharing ownership of the same company. Best to not go pissing each other off.”

Harley chuckled again, “True. Shit. That shouldn’t be hard, should it?”

“What?”

“Owning the biggest tech company in the world. One of us is gonna have to run it eventually.”

“Ugh, I really don’t want to think about that right now. I don’t care,” Peter sighed, “I can’t even think about putting my suit on at the moment. Tony made that, y’know? He put so much effort into it...Parachute....Heater....A.I...Over 500 ways to shoot a web, how did he even...?”

“He cared about you, that’s how,” Harley stated as if it were the most obvious fact in the world. It probably was, “Just like how he tutored me in engineering despite not being able to visit me that much.....I’m gonna miss it...”

“Yeah,” sighed Peter.

The two heirs fell back into their shared silence again for several minutes before Harley once again broke it.

“Tony was closer to you than me.”

“What makes you say that? You knew him longer than I did.”

“Yeah, but you got to see him every week....I was just...”

“Family. You were his family. Tony said so.”

Harley looked apprehensive, but hopeful, “Did he really say that?”

Peter gave a grim smile, “Well...not directly, but it was implied. He said that his family consists of people who are just as weird as he was....”

“....You’re calling me weird?”

Peter chuckled, “Is that a bad thing?”

Harley considered it for a moment, “Nope, it’s not a bad thing at all.”

“Good. I guess....I guess we’ll just have to keep being weird together without him, right?”

“Right.”

#tony stark #peter parker #harley keener #aunt may #may parker #Iron Man #spider man #fanfic #The Avengers #Avengers infinity war

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merinnan · 6 years

Text

A Court of Azeroth and Prythian - Chapter Seven

Chapter One * Chapter Two * Chapter Three * Chapter Four * Chapter Five * Chapter Six * AO3

For the second time that day, he was drowning. Still gripping Shalamayne in one hand, Varian used the other to struggle towards the surface, the water glowing an eerie green. A hand plunged through the water, grasping his wrist, and dragging him up above the surface.

As Tarquin released his wrist, Varian realised that the water had solidified beneath him, and that he was standing on it as easily as if it were a field. He stood next to Tarquin, easily a couple of dozen feet from the sailboat where they’d been thrown when the infernal had landed on it. The infernal stood in the middle of the boat, the fel flames lapping at the wood and being drowned out the moment they appeared by waves sweeping over the sides, directed to each flame as it appeared. The infernal was occupied by punching over and over at something on the bow – Cresseida, Varian saw, who had been thrown up against the railing. The infernal never hit her, each blow glancing off of a shield bubbling around her. A flash of steel, and through the waves and flames he spotted her brother attacking the infernal from behind. When it turned towards him, he vanished, only to appear behind it again.

The little nixie was clinging to Tarquin’s leg, her eyes wide with terror. Varian blinked. While he and Tarquin were standing easily on the water’s surface, she was back in the water, as if to her, it was just normal waves. Tarquin knelt next to her.

“I’m sending you back to Adriata,” he said to her. “I need you to warn them. You can do that, can’t you?”

She nodded, and Tarquin carefully peeled her fingers from around his leg before a wave washed over her, and she was gone. As he stood, Shalamayne flashed over his head, and Varian skewered the fel bat that had flown in to take advantage of their distraction. Tarquin looked at it, crystal-blue eyes as hard as ice, and the waves snatched the creature off of the sword and dragged it down into the depths.

The two men turned towards that gap in the water ahead, watching screeching felbats flying up out of it and towards them. Behind them, head and shoulders above the surface of the water and behind whatever barrier it was that was holding the water back from them, the unmistakable profiles of eredar and felguard. Tiny imps on the eredar’s shoulders, seeing Varian and Tarquin standing on the water’s surface, leaped onto the water themselves – only to find that the surface wasn’t solid for them, and they shrieked as the leaped out and back to the relative safety of their masters.

Varian dodged a purple bolt of power from one of the eredar warlocks, charging towards one of the felguards that now swam towards them. Above him, a pair of felbats plunged from the sky, clutching their throats and spitting out the water that suddenly filled their lungs. The others spiralled up and away to assess what had happened before choosing their next attack. The water remained solid under his feet as he ran – as if he were running not on the middle of an ocean, but rather through mud. Not an ideal surface, but one he could work with. Shalamayne curved down towards the felguard’s neck, and the demon just barely managed to deflect the blow. Behind him, he could hear Cresseida and the other Varian keeping the infernal occupied, and in front of him, giant waves crashed down into the small barrier the demons were using, flushing them up and out of it.

Using the surface of an ocean in such a manner had to be the oddest battleground that he’d ever fought on, the squishing ‘ground’ remaining solid for him, but not for the demons that he fought. He stabbed and slashed down at the felguards and imps, dancing back away from most of their blows, and wishing that he was wearing his armour rather than the light clothing he’d changed into earlier. Waves and blasts of water knocked back some of the demons and eredar, and other waves dragged them under the water.

A large crash behind him caught his attention as he pulled Shalamayne from the throat of one of the warlocks, and he saw the infernal’s fist smash into the bow of the sailboat, upending it and sending the infernal splashing into the water with the boat flipping over onto its head. Steam rose around it. Varian’s breath caught for a moment, until he spotted Cresseida standing to Tarquin, her fingers twitching as she joined her cousin in using the ocean itself as a weapon. The fae Varian appeared out of nowhere next to him, giving him the barest of nods before they both turned back to the demons.

The battle grew more difficult as they fought, the felbats keeping high apart from dive-bombing at the most inopportune moments, and the felguard and eredar’s attacks whittling away at their unarmoured bodies. Varian gritted his teeth and kept fighting, swirling and lunging and slashing. He was so focused on the demons before him that he didn’t notice the glowing green fist beneath him until someone grabbed his shoulders and he was hauled away as the infernal’s fist smashed up where he had been.

Hauled away – and up. Varian looked up, to find himself being carried by Azriel, the winged faerie from the meeting earlier. The faerie’s wings beat strongly in the air; bat wings, Varian could see now. The faerie swooped to the side, dodging a warlock’s attacks, and Varian spotted two other winged humanoids engaging the demons. One was carving through felbats with a sword, while the other rained bolts of red destructive power onto the demons’ foothold.

From the air, Varian could see the entirety of the watery battlefield. An invisible wall kept back the water of a small pocket around a green portal, one of the eredar concentrating wholly on it. If the portal that Varian had come through had been there, it had now been entirely taken over by the Legion. Bodies of imps and felbats floated in the water, along with one of the felguards. The fae Varian was engaged with the other, and winnowed away several feet just in time to avoid another blow from the infernal swimming back up to the surface. The other eredar were occupied with trying to hold back Tarquin and Cresseida’s waves, or with exchanging bolts of purple energy with the red ones of the other winged faerie. As the infernal broached the surface, Varian’s eyes narrowed at it, calculating.

“Azriel!” he called up. Dark eyes flickered down to him, and a flash of blue lit up the faerie’s face as a bolt of energy struck near them, only to be dissipated on a magical shield. Varian pointed at the infernal with Shalamayne. “Can you get me to the back of that thing’s neck?”

Azriel gave him an ice cold grin in return. “Hold on,” was all he said, then veered off and around. Varian reversed his sword in his hands as they flew around, then straight down. With both his weight and Azriel’s driving down, Shalamayne slid easily into the gap where the infernal’s head met its body. The faerie released him and flew back up, twisting mid-air before raining bolts of blue magical force into the infernal’s chest as Varian leveraged his blade against its head, gritting his teeth as the fel flames licked up his legs and burned both cloth and flesh.

Red energy joined the blue, keeping the infernal trying to deal with three separate attackers. With a mighty heave, Varian pushed down on his blade with all of his might, separating the infernal’s head from its body. As it fell into the waves in pieces, one of those waves snatched Varian up and pulled him away, even as he saw the fel portal vanish and the invisible walls keeping the water back from it collapsed.

The wave deposited him back next to Tarquin and Cresseida, and he staggered slightly, fighting to keep his feet despite the fel burns covering his legs. The fae Varian appeared next to them a moment later, and the three winged faeries hovered next to them. One of them was Rhysand, Varian realised. He raised an eyebrow at the High Lord – those wings certainly hadn’t been there during the meeting. The other winged faerie was enough like Azriel that they certainly had to be the same race, but was more solidly built and with longer hair, the gems in his leather armour red where Azriel’s were blue. Rhysand’s attention was fixed on Tarquin.

“We have a prisoner,” he said, and gestured to one of the eredar warlocks, bound in ropes of shadow and hovering just above the water’s surface. “You can have it, or Azriel can.” The shadows around Azriel almost seemed to flicker at that. “Feyre, Mor, and Amren stayed in Adriata to help your forces against the attack there,” Rhysand continued. “Along with a very…loud…nixie.”

Tarquin’s dark skin paled slightly, but he simply nodded. “Do with that thing as you will. I’ll meet you back at Adriata,” he said, and vanished. Rhysand nodded to Azriel, who grabbed the eredar and also vanished, leaving only a swirl of shadow behind.

“Does that mean we get to play some more?” the other winged faerie asked, giving a feral grin. “That wasn’t nearly enough of a challenge.”

“What are you even doing here, Cassian?” the fae Varian asked. He placed a hand on Varian’s shoulder, and Varian felt the pain of the burns and cuts leech out of him, until he felt as good as he had been before the fight started.

“Saving your ass again, evidently,” Cassian drawled back.

“Later,” Rhysand cut in before anyone could say anything else. “Once we’ve dealt with the attack on Adriata.” He gave the four of them a nod, and also vanished into shadows, Cassian a moment behind him. The fae Varian’s hand tightened on Varian’s shoulder, then the two of them likewise vanished, winnowing back to Adriata and whatever awaited them there.

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